/  e 


THE 
SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 


DJE  CALIF.  LIBRARY,  LOS  ANGELES 


Books  by  the  Same  Author 


THE  STRONGEST 

LE  GRAND  PAN 

AU  FIL  DES  JOURS 

ETC. 


THE 
SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

BY 
GEORGES  CLEMENCEAU 


TRANSLATED  BY 

GRACE  HALL 


GARDEN  CITY  NEW  YORK 

DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE  &  COMPANY 
1920 


COPYRIGHT,  1920,  BY 
DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE  4  COMPANY 

ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED,  INCLUDING  THAT  OF  TRANSLATION 
INTO  FOREIGN  LANGUAGES,  INCLUDING  THE  SCANDINAVIAN 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAOt 

I.    MOKOUBAMBA'S  FETISH 3 

II.    A  DESCENDANT  OF  TIMON 19 

III.  MALUS  VICINUS 31 

IV.  AUNT  ROSALIE'S  INHERITANCE  ....  45 
V.    GIDEON  IN  His  GRAVE    .......  61 

VI.    SIMON,  SON  OF  SIMON     ......  73 

VII.    AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  CROSS      ....  87 

VIII.    EVIL  BENEFICENCE 101 

IX.    A  MAD  THINKER 113 

X.    BETTER  THAN  STEALING 125 

XI.    THE  GRAY  Fox 137 

XII.    THE  ADVENTURE  OF  MY  CURE  ....  149 

XIII.  MASTER  BAPTIST,  JUDGE 161 

XIV.  THE    BULLFINCH    AND    THE    MAKER    OP 

WOODEN  SHOES 173 

XV.    ABOUT  NESTS 185 

V 


21261SO 


vi  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAOB 

XVI.  A  DOMESTIC  DRAMA 197 

XVII.  SEX  CENTS .     .  209 

XVIII.  FLOWER  o'  THE  WHEAT 221 

XIX.  JEAN  PIOT'S  FEAST   . 233 

XX.  THE  TREASURE  OF  ST.  BARTHOLOMEW      .  249 

XXI.  A  HAPPY  UNION 263 

XXII.  A  WELL- ASSORTED  COUPLE       ....  275 

XXIII.  LOVERS  IN  FLORENCE 287 

XXIV.  A  HUNTING  ACCIDENT 301 

XXV.  GIAMBOLO  313 


MOKOUBAMBA'S  FETISH 


THE   SURPRISES   OF   LIFE 


MOKOUBAMBA'S  FETISH 

IT  MAY  be  that  you  knew  Mokoubamba  who 
became  famous  in  Passy  for  his  labours  as  a 
reseater  of  rush-bottomed  chairs,  weaver  of 
mats,  of  baskets  and  hampers,  mender  of  all  things 
breakable,  teller  of  tales,  entertainer  of  the  passerby, 
lover  of  all  haunts  where  poor  mortality  resorts  to 
eat  and  drink.  He  was  an  old  Negro  from  the  coast 
of  Guinea,  very  black  as  to  skin,  wholly  white  as  to 
hair,  with  great  velvety  black  eyes  and  the  jaws  of  a 
crocodile  whence  issued  childlike  laughter.  He  used 
to  honour  me  with  his  visits  on  his  way  home  at 
evening  when  he  had  not  sold  quite  all  his  wares. 
With  abundance  of  words  and  gestures,  he  would 
explain  to  me  how  fortunate  I  was  to  need  precisely 
the  article  of  which  by  an  unforeseen  and  kindly 
chance  he  was  the  owner.  And  as  he  saw  that  I 
delighted  in  his  talk,  he  gave  free  rein  to  that  spirited 
eloquence  which  never  failed  to  bring  him  more  or 
less  remuneration. 

3 


4  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

Our  latest  "reformers"  having  put  intoxication  by 
the  juice  of  the  grape  within  reach  of  all,  Mokou- 
bamba  died  on  the  fourteenth  of  last  July,  from  hav- 
ing too  copiously  celebrated  the  taking  of  the  Bastille. 
No  more  will  Passy  see  Mokoubamba,  with  his  white 
burnous,  his  scarlet  ckechia,  his  green  boots,  and  his 
drum-major's  staff.  A  genuine  loss  to  the  truly 
Parisian  picturesqueness  of  this  quarter.  As  for  me, 
how  should  I  not  miss  the  rare  companion  who  had 
seen  so  many  lands,  consorted  with  so  many  sages, 
and  collected  so  many  strange  teachings? 

"Mokoubamba  knows  the  whole  earth,"  he  was 
wont  to  say,  candidly  adding:  "Mokoubamba  knows 
everything  that  man  can  know." 

And  the  generosity  of  this  primitive  nature  will  be 
seen  in  the  fact  of  his  not  keeping  his  hoard  of 
knowledge  to  himself,  but  lavishing  it  upon  all 
comers.  He  was  equally  willing  to  announce  what 
the  weather  would  be  on  the  morrow  and  what 
it  had  been  on  the  day  before.  By  means  of 
cabalistic  signs  on  a  very  grimy  bit  of  parchment 
he  foretold  any  man's  destiny:  a  choice  destiny, 
indeed,  of  whose  felicities  he  was  never  known  to  be 
niggardly. 

The  poor  were  informed  that  a  rich  inheritance 
awaited  them,  the  rich  saw  their  fortunes  increased 
by  unlooked-for  events,  love  knocked  at  the  door  of 
the  young,  children  came  into  the  world  who  were  to 
be  the  pride  of  their  families,  the  old,  beloved  for 


MOKOUBAMBA'S  FETISH  5 

their  own  sakes,  saw  their  lives  stretch  out  indefi- 
nitely: Mokoubamba  kept  a  Paradise  shop. 

One  day  I  made  bold  to  call  him  to  account  for 
this,  claiming  that  life  held  in  store  for  us  disap- 
pointments, here  and  there,  for  the  purpose  of  giving 
an  edge  to  our  pleasures,  and  that  there  must  from 
time  to  time  be  a  discrepancy  between  the  sovereign 
bliss  of  which  he  so  freely  held  out  the  hope  and  the 
sum  of  realized  joys. 

"Life,"  replied  the  wise  Mokoubamba,  "is  a 
procession  of  delights.  As  soon  as  one  has  dis- 
appeared, another  has  started  upon  its  way.  It 
may  be  a  more  or  less  long  time  in  arriving,  but  no 
one  will  begrudge  waiting  for  it,  and  the  waiting  is 
often  the  best  a  man  gets  out  of  it." 

For  a  chairmender  this  saying  seemed  to  me  fairly 
profound. 

"Who  taught  you  this?"  I  asked. 

"A  fakir  from  Benares  from  whom  the  heavens 
withheld  no  secrets." 

"You  have  been  hi  India?" 

"I  have  been  everywhere." 

"Mokoubamba,  my  friend,  yours  is  no  ordinary 
life.  Will  you  not  tell  me  something  of  it?  The 
past  interests  me  more  than  the  future." 

"If  you  will  order  them  to  give  me  coffee  and 
cigarettes,  and  if  I  may  drink  and  smoke  as  long  as  I 
talk,  you  shall  have  my  entire  history." 

I  nodded  in  assent,  and  Mokoubamba,  taking  pos- 


6  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

session  of  my  verandah,  squatted  upon  one  of  his 
own  mats,  inhaled  the  perfume  of  Arabia,  exhaled 
three  puffs  of  curly  blue  smoke,  and  seemed  to  lose 
himself  in  the  search  for  a'  starting  point. 

"What  was  your  first  occupation?"  I  asked  by 
way  of  helping  him  on. 

"The  easiest  of  all,"  said  he,  with  a  shamefaced 
air.  "  I  began  by  being  a  minister." 

"Minister!"  I  cried  in  high  surprise.  "Minister 
to  whom?  Minister  of  what?" 

"Minister  to  the  great  King  Matori.  Down 
there — down  there — beyond  the  Niger." 

"Truly!  My  compliments  to  His  Excellency! 
And  you  say  the  profession  seemed  an  easy  one  to 
you?  Your  colleagues  up  here  would  scarcely  agree 
with  you." 

"I  speak  of  what  I  have  seen.  In  my  country 
those  who  are  the  masters  are  always  in  the  right. 
Tell  me  if  you  know  of  a  place  on  earth  where  it  is  any 
different?  I  did  not  know  how  to  do  anything.  I 
could  not  even  have  braided  a  mat  in  those  days. 
Well,  then,  all  that  I  said  was  admirable,  and  as  soon 
as  I  had  given  an  order  it  was  considered  the  best  in 
the  world.  I  was  myself  a  Fetish,  my  mother  having 
given  me  birth  on  a  day  of  ram  after  a  long  drought 
which  had  reduced  our  villages  to  famine." 

"And  what  were  your  functions?" 

"The  same  as  elsewhere.  I  was  purveyor  of 
provisions  to  the  royal  household  and  I  reserved  a 


MOKOUBAMBA'S  FETISH  7 

just  share  for  myself.  Matori  loved  me  very  much. 
But  I  had  enemies.  They  persuaded  him  that  my 
Fetish  was  stronger  than  his,  and  as  he  feared  my 
power,  he  sold  me  to  an  English  trader  who  needed 
carriers  for  his  ivory.  It  was  a  long  journey  to  the 
coast.  If  a  man  fell  he  was  gently  dispatched  on  the 
spot,  so  that  he  might  not  be  eaten  alive  by  the 
beasts,  and  his  load  was  distributed  among  the  rest  of 
us.  Without  my  Fetish  I  should  have  been  left  be- 
hind. I  may  add  that  being  beaten  with  a  stick 
helped  to  keep  up  my  courage." 

"And  what  is  your  Fetish?" 

"At  that  time  I  did  not  know,  but  I  felt  it  without 
knowing.  In  time  we  arrived  among  the  English.  I 
was  not  a  slave.  Oh,  no!  but  I  had  been  *  engaged,' 
and  in  order  that  I  might  better  fill  my  *  engage- 
ment* they  fastened  me,  with  many  others,  to  the 
wall  of  a  courtyard,  by  an  iron  chain." 

"  Poor  Mokoubamba ! " 

"I  was  not  unhappy,  for  they  fed  me  very  well. 
They  wished  to  have  us  in  good  condition  so  as  to 
get  rid  of  us.  It  was  there  that  I  learned  the  art  of 
weaving  reeds  and  rattan,  and  carving  curious 
designs  upon  wood.  My  neighbour,  the  man  chained 
beside  me,  was  a  great  sorcerer  in  his  own  land.  He 
could  carve  bamboo,  he  could  cook;  he  was  skilled  in 
hammering  red-hot  iron,  in  stitching  leather,  in 
dancing;  he  could  call  up  spirits.  They  took  very 
good  care  of  him.  They  did  not  sell  him,  of  course, 


8  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

since  there  existed  no  slavery,  but  they  bartered  him 
for  two  dozen  bottles  of  French  brandy.  There  was 
a  price  for  you!  Matori  had  handed  me  over  for  a 
single  calabash  of  rum  and  a  copper  trumpet." 

"Poor  Mokoubamba!" 

"Yes,  you  are  right!  It  was  a  paltry  price.  I 
was  humiliated  by  it  for  a  long  time.  But  as  my 
new  master  used  to  say,  I  must  learn  to  overcome  the 
demon  of  pride." 

"  Your  new  master  used  to  say  that?  " 

"It  was  like  this.  I  was  quietly  sitting  at  my 
chain  one  day,  making  a  large  basket,  when  a  man 
dressed  in  black,  with  an  edge  of  white  around  his 
neck,  came  near  me  and  said:  'My  brother,  what 
have  you  done  with  your  soul?'  I  had  learned  a 
few  words  of  English  on  the  journey.  However,  I 
asked  my  visitor  to  repeat  his  question.  He  re- 
peated it  again  and  again,  and  I  finally  understood 
that  he  was  talking  about  my  Fetish,  and  that  he 
wished  to  know  what  I  had  done  with  it.  I  answered 
that  it  was  a  sacred  thing,  and  that  I  had  it  with  me, 
but  that  I  would  willingly  employ  it  in  his  service  if 
he  would  acquire  me  for  a  sum  of  money.  My  an- 
swer had  the  good  fortune  to  please  him,  it  seems, 
for  on  that  very  evening  the  excellent  Reverend 
Ebenezer  Jones  installed  me  in  his  parsonage.  He 
taught  me  about  his  great  Fetish,  who  did  not  much 
differ  from  Matori's.  Is  not  a  Fetish  always  some- 
thing that  we  do  not  know  and  that  works  us  either 


MOKOUBAMBA'S  FETISH  9 

good  or  evil?  We  ask  it  for  good,  and  it  does  not 
always  grant  it.  But  as  I  was  just  saying,  we  go  on 
expecting  it,  and  that  keeps  us  in  patience. 

"Ebenezer  Jones  told  me  beautiful  tales  full  of 
marvels,  and  he  always  ended  with  the  question: 
'Dost  thou  believe?' 

"How  should  I  not  have  believed  him?  So  good  a 
man,  who  daily  let  me  have  soup  with  meat  in  it.  I 
was  baptized  by  him  with  a  fine  ceremony.  Before 
long  he  was  so  pleased  with  me  that  he  made  me  his 
sexton.  I  was  the  edification  of  the  faithful,  every- 
one brought  me  gifts,  and  I  was  able,  unknown  to  the 
Right  Reverend,  to  treat  myself  to  a  superior  brand 
of  tafia. 

"Ebenezer  Jones  travelled  about  the  country  preach- 
ing his  Fetish,  and  I  accompanied  him.  I  had  ended 
by  knowing  his  discourses  by  heart,  and  often  at 
gatherings  I  recited  portions  of  them  after  he  had 
finished  speaking.  People  understood  me  better 
than  they  did  him,  which  was  not  to  be  wondered  at. 
My  'spiritual  guide'  owed  to  me  most  of  the  success 
that  made  him  famous  in  his  own  country.  This 
lasted  for  nearly  ten  years. 

"One  day,  Ebenezer  having  been  called  back  to  Lon- 
don proposed  that  I  should  follow  him.  I  did  it 
joyfully,  and  I  must  say  that  the  six  weeks  I  spent 
in  that  capital  were  one  long-drawn-out  feast.  I  was 
exhibited  at  the  Missionary  Society  as  a  model  among 
converts.  At  dessert  I  would  rise  and  speak  of  my 


10  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

complete  happiness,  which  was  but  natural  after  so 
good  a  meal.  People  wept  with  emotion,  and  so  did 
I  myself.  In  that  country  the  religious  fervour  of 
elderly  gentlewomen  is  extraordinary.  Between  pud- 
dings and  mince  pies,  it  was  one  stream  of  gifts  of 
food.  Never  have  I  eaten  so  well  or  drunk  so  much. 

"There,  however,  I  was  surprised  to  find  that  the 
English  no  more  than  the  Negroes  are  all  of  one  mind 
with  regard  to  their  Fetishes,  which  I  ought  to  have 
expected.  In  Africa,  at  a  six  days'  journey  from  our 
church,  there  was  a  Catholic  Mission.  I  was  careful 
never  to  go  near  it,  since  Ebenezer  had  warned  me 
that  they  worked  evil  spells  there  upon  the  poor 
Negroes  who  let  themselves  be  deceived. 

"But  one  afternoon  in  London,  I  was  accosted  by  a 
big  devil  of  an  Irish  priest  who  had  heard  of  my 
religious  zeal.  He  was  greatly  perturbed  by  the 
glory  which  the  Missionary  Society  owed  to  me.  He 
had  determined  to  snatch  me  away  from  Ebenezer 
Jones.  I  let  him  take  me  home  with  him,  where  I 
found  a  table  abundantly  spread.  Meat,  pies,  and 
preserves,  and  liqueurs,  oh,  such  liqueurs!  I  was 
deeply  shaken,  and  could  not  disguise  the  fact  from 
my  new  friend,  Father  Joseph  O'Meara.  He  in- 
creased his  efforts,  and  so  successfully  explained  to 
me  the  superiority  of  his  Fetishes  over  Ebenezer's 
that  I  was  obliged  to  agree  he  was  right.  No  sooner 
had  I  uttered  the  word  than  he  baptized  me  on  the 
spot,  gave  me  a  good  bed  to  sleep  in,  and  on  the 


MOKOUBAMBA'S  FETISH  11 

morrow  celebrated  my  reconversion  with  a  cere- 
mony even  finer  than  the  former  one.  There  were 
Fetishes  everywhere  surrounded  by  lights.  Joseph 
O'Meara  wept  for  joy  and  so  did  I.  That  evening 
there  was  a  magnificent  banquet,  .  .  .  just  like 
the  others.  They  had  taught  me  a  speech,  but  as  the 
generous  potations  had  slightly  clouded  my  memory, 
I  was  able  to  utter  but  one  sentence:  'Mokou- 
bamba  is  very  happy,  very  happy.' 

"And  that  was  no  lie. 

"The  trouble  was  now  that  Ebenezer  Jones, 
ashamed  of  having  allowed  Mokoubamba  to  be 
stolen  from  him,  wished  to  get  me  back.  But 
Joseph  O'Meara  was  not  the  man  to  let  any  such 
trick  be  played  upon  him.  I  was  treated  like  a 
prince,  and  kept  well  in  sight  for  fifteen  glorious  days. 
Then  it  was  explained  to  me  that  I  must  go  to  an- 
other country  so  as  to  escape  from  the  machinations 
of  the  'Evil  One,'  which  was  the  name  of  Ebenezer's 
bad  Fetish.  I  was  consequently  hurried  off  to  a 
mission  in  Bombay  where  the  religion  was  very 
different.  Here  were  priests  who  fasted  all  day  long. 
A  moiety  of  rice,  much  dust,  and  as  much  warm 
water  as  I  cared  to  consume.  This  did  not  suit  me  in 
the  least.  I  wandered  about  the  streets  looking  for 
some  Fetish  willing  to  take  an  interest  in  me.  There 
are  all  manner  of  people  out  there.  I  questioned 
concerning  their  Fetishes  a  Parsee,  a  fire-worshipper 
who  had  nothing  to  cook  in  his  dish,  and  a  Chinaman 


12  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

who  considering  my  appetite  told  me  that  I  should 
be  born  again  in  the  form  of  a  shark.  None  of  them 
showed  any  care  to  convert  me.  A  Mahomedan 
alone  seemed  disposed  to  win  me  over  to  his  Fetish, 
but  he  wished  first  to  take  from  me  a  portion  of 
something  which  I  at  that  time  considered  very 
desirable.  That  ended  it. 

"I  travelled,  weaving  baskets  and  mats,  even  as  I  do 
to-day.  I  lived  very  poorly.  Everyone  in  that 
country  cares  above  all  things  for  his  own  Fetish,  and 
will  not  change  it.  There  is  no  work  there  for 
Ebenezer  Jones  or  Joseph  O'Meara.  And  yet  their 
Fetishes  leave  the  people  in  great  misery.  They  let 
them  starve  by  the  hundred  thousand,  yet  no  one  has 
the  slightest  idea  of  turning  to  those  Fetishes  through 
whom  other  peoples  live  in  abundance. 

"I  laid  this  question  before  a  fakir  of  Benares  who 
was  said  to  possess  supreme  wisdom.  His  Fetish 
was  a  wooden  bowl  behind  which  he  squatted  at  the 
roadside  by  way  of  adoration.  Looking  at  the 
thing  casually,  you  would  have  seen  in  it  nothing 
extraordinary.  And  yet  that  bowl  had  the  property 
of  attracting  money  because  of  the  belief  established 
by  the  fakir  that  it  brought  good  luck  to  the  giver. 
Indeed,  I  have  found  the  same  thing  true  here  in 
your  country.  But  the  mendicant  fakir  class  of 
India  is  here  divided  in  two  classes:  the  beggar  by 
trade,  to  whom  you  give  nothing  because  he  is  not 
'respectable,'  and  the  professional  fakir  to  whom 


MOKOUBAMBA'S  FETISH  IS 

you  give  everything  because  your  success  may  depend 
on  his  favour. 

"The  man  of  Benares  knew  this  and  much  besides. 
He  became  my  friend  because  of  the  very  simplicity 
of  my  questions.  At  evening  he  would  bestow  on  me 
the  alms  of  a  bowl  of  rice.  Often  he  let  me  spread 
my  litter  in  his  reed  hut.  At  night  under  the  stars  he 
taught  me  concerning  the  creation,  and  imparted  to 
me  his  knowledge  of  all  things.  It  was  he  who 
expounded  to  me  the  great  mystery  of  Fetishes, 
since  which  I  have  lived  without  care  for  the  morrow. 
Later,  a  Parsee,  a  great  grain  merchant,  took  me  to 
your  Algiers,  and  thence  brought  me  here,  where  I 
have  remained.  But  all  that  I  have  seen  of  the  world 
has  but  confirmed  my  belief  in  the  profound  wisdom 
of  the  illustrious  fakir  of  Benares." 

"Good.  But  what  did  he  tell  you  about 
Fetishes?" 

"You  see  ...  I  have  no  more  cof- 
fee. .  .  ." 

"  There  you  are,  and  how  about  this  little  glass  of 
brandy?" 

"With  pleasure.  And  anyway  it  can  be  summed 
up  in  one  word.  The  fakir  told  me  that  the  universe 
is  but  one  huge  agglomeration  of  Fetishes.  There 
are  as  many  as  there  are  creatures  alive.  Some  are 
strong  and  some  are  weak.  It  is  a  great  battle  as  to 
which  shall  come  out  on  top.  The  wicked  are  those 
who  work  evil  on  others  to  get  the  upper  hand.  The 


14  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

good  are  those  who  use  gentleness,  persuasion,  art. 
One  had  better  be  on  the  side  of  the  good  unless  one 
is  stronger  than  they." 

"I  see.  But  was  the  fakir  speaking  of  Fetishes  or 
of  men?" 

"Ha-ha!  You  want  to  know  all  of  it!  Another 
little  glass  and  you  shall  have  your  answer.  Excel- 
lent! I  can  refuse  you  nothing.  Well,  then,  the 
fakir  affirmed  that  Fetish  and  man  are  one  and  the 
same  thing,  for  every  man  makes  his  Fetish  according 
to  the  strength  of  his  interest  in  himself,  and  the 
will  power  he  expends  in  satisfy  ing  it.  That  is  why 
I  am  not  deceiving  when  I  foretell  a  happy  fortune 
for  people.  It  but  strengthens  their  Fetish,  their 
chance  of  happiness  is  increased,  they  enjoy  it  in 
anticipation." 

"Then,  Mokoubamba,  under  varying  forms  and 
shifting  denominations,  you  maintain  that  the  only 
Fetish  to  whom  you  have  remained  unalterably 
faithful,  and  which  has  rewarded  your  fidelity  by 
pulling  you  through  everything  in  the  world " 

"Is  Mokoubamba  himself.  There  is  the  great 
secret.  Meditate  upon  it,  like  the  fakir " 

1  I  shall  meditate  upon  it,  have  no  fear.  But  do 
you  suppose  this  great  secret  is  known  in  Benares 
alone?" 

"I  have  often  asked  myself  that  question. 
Judging  by  actions,  everyone  seems  perfectly  aware 
of  what  he  is  about.  But  I  have  never  known  any  one 


MOKOUBAMBA'S  FETISH  15 

except  the  fakir  of  Benares  to  state  things  as  they 
are." 

Thus  spake  Mokoubamba,  reseater  of  rush- 
bottomed  chairs  in  Passy,  mender  of  all  things 
breakable,  entertainer  of  the  passerby,  teller  of 
fanciful  tales. 


A  DESCENDANT  OF  TIMON 


n 

A  DESCENDANT  OF  TIMON 

TIMON  of  Athens  hated  all  men  because  he  had 
once  too  greatly  loved  them.     To  whom  shall 
the   fault   be   ascribed,  to   mankind,   or   to 
Timon  of  Athens?     The  long-standing  open  question 
does  not  yet  appear  to  have  been  answered.     The 
human  race  continues  to  lay  the  blame  on  its  de- 
tractors, and  the  descendants  of  Timon,  who  was 
above  all  a  disappointed  lover  of  his  kind,  have  not 
ceased  to  find  good  reasons  for  their  censure. 

The  special  descendant  of  Timon  who  trotted  me 
on  his  knee  when  I  was  a  child  was  an  old  navy 
doctor  retired  from  service  after  a  severe  wound 
received  at  Navarino.  If  I  close  my  eyes,  the  better 
to  call  up  my  memories,  there  arises  before  me  a  long, 
gaunt  silhouette  surmounted  by  a  bald  head,  the 
entire  figure  running  to  length,  which  is,  they  say,  the 
mark  of  an  immoderate  idealism.  I  remember  his 
small,  mocking  green  eyes,  sunk  behind  the  brush  of 
his  formidable  eyebrows.  The  long,  white  side- 
whiskers,  the  carefully  shaven  lips  that  would  stretch 
to  his  ears  in  a  grin  like  Voltaire's,  accompanied  by 
a  dry  chuckle,  have  remained  alive  in  my  memory, 

19 


20  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

as  have  also  his  wide,  incoordinate  gestures,  his  dry, 
harsh  voice,  and  his  biting,  wrathful  utterances. 

I  should  find  it  impossible  at  this  distance  to 
trace  the  life  history  of  Doctor  Jean  du  Pouet,  known 
over  the  entire  Plain,  from  Sainte  Hermine  to  Fonte- 
nay-le-Comte,  under  the  familiar  yet  respectful 
title  of  "The  Doctor."  All  I  can  say  is  that  the 
Doctor,  hailing  originally  from  L'Aiguillon,  a  little 
port  of  the  Vendee  at  the  mouth  of  the  Lay,  had 
sailed  every  sea,  landed  on  every  island,  visited 
every  coast  of  every  continent,  and  made  his  studies 
of  all  nations  on  earth  from  life,  which  enabled  him  to 
criticise  his  neighbours  at  every  turn  by  comparing 
them,  disastrously  for  them,  with  heaven  knows  what 
abominable  savages,  in  which  comparison  the  latter 
were  always  found  far  superior,  with  regard  to  the 
point  under  discussion,  to  the  men  of  the  Vendee, 
from  the  Plain,  the  Woodland,  and  the  Marsh,  all 
put  together. 

It  was  in  the  very  heart  of  the  Plain,  in  the  village 
of  Ecoulandres,  that  the  "Doctor"  had  come  to 
settle,  brought  there  by  an  inheritance  from  a 
cousin,  who  had  left  him  lord  and  master  of  an  old 
middle-class  dwelling  with  large  tile-paved  rooms  in 
which  hung  panoplies  of  tomahawks,  javelins, 
bucklers,  boomerangs,  in  warlike  wreaths  around 
monstrous  idols,  whose  barbaric  names,  impressively 
enumerated  by  the  traveller,  aroused  a  holy  terror  in 
the  soul  of  the  peaceable  tillers  of  the  soil. 


A  DESCENDANT  OF  TIMON  21 

A  little  wood  of  elms,  a  great  curiosity  in  a  region 
where  not  a  tree  is  to  be  seen,  surrounded  the  do- 
main. It  was  a  thin  copse,  the  layer  of  soil  making 
but  a  shallow  covering  to  the  underlying  limestone. 
This  did  not  prevent  our  stern  censor  from  taking  a 
certain  pride  in  his  "grove,"  without  its  like  to  the 
furthermost  boundary  of  the  horizon.  I  must  even 
confess  that  the  doctor,  like  any  other  true  son  of  the 
Vendee,  had  a  very  well-developed  sense  of  landed 
proprietorship.  Money  ran  through  his  fingers,  and 
no  outstretched  palm  ever  sought  his  help  in  vain. 
But  the  possessive  pronoun  rose  readily  to  his  lips 
when  talk  turned  upon  the  land.  "My  dung,"  "my 
stones,"  "my  nettles,"  he  was  wont  to  say.  He  adored 
his  Plain — "Green  in  springtime,  in  summer  gold," 
where  fleecy  crops  rippled  under  the  great  blue  canopy, 
— pierced  along  the  horizon  by  steeples  suggestive  of 
distant  shipping.  Flights  of  plovers  in  January  and 
ducks  in  September  engaged  the  doctor's  attention. 
He  watched  for  them  from  a  murderous  shooting 
shelter,  and  invented  incredible  ruses  to  allure  them 
nearer.  The  rest  of  his  time  was  spent  scouring  the 
countryside  in  a  jolting  rural  trap,  hastening  to  the 
bedside  of  the  sick,  who  sent  for  him  on  any  and  all 
occasions,  but  did  not  greatly  value  his  visits,  as 
he  never  required  payment,  or  administered  to  his 
patients  that  accompanying  dose  of  legitimate  char- 
latanism which  forms  the  chief  factor  in  so  many 
cures. 


22  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

For  the  doctor  was  above  all  things  outspoken.  I 
am  unaware  whether  some  great  disappointment  had 
driven  him  to  misanthropy,  or  whether  he  had 
merely  given  way  to  the  natural  bent  of  his  character. 
Whatever  may  have  been  his  soul's  history,  it  is 
certain  that  he  at  every  opportunity  exercised  his 
fine  capacity  for  indignation  against  mankind  in 
general,  and  with  particular  delight  against  the 
specimens  of  it  who  happened  to  be  present.  Never 
any  coarse  rudeness,  however,  and  absolutely  never 
any  active  ill  will.  He  was  not  to  be  taken  at  his 
word,  his  pleasure  consisting  merely  in  satanic 
thoughts,  the  cruel  expression  of  which  sufficed  for 
the  satisfaction  of  his  ferocity. 

You  should  have  heard  him  on  the  subject  of  love, 
of  friendship,  of  gratitude.  It  was  his  joy  to  demon- 
strate that  every  form  of  courtesy  concealed  a  lie,  by 
which  he  was  no  more  deceived  than  was  the  person 
favouring  him  with  it.  It  was  no  pleasure  trip, 
coming  to  thank  him  for  having  saved  a  sick  man's 
life.  The  patient  and  his  friends  heard  startling 
things  concerning  the  self-interest  at  bottom  of  their 
thoughts. 

"Are  you  so  glad,  then,  not  to  get  your  in- 
heritance?" he  would  say  to  a  son  who  came  to  tell 
him  of  his  old  father's  complete  return  to  health. 

And  he  would  cite  living  parallels,  drawn  from  the 
life  of  neighbouring  villages,  calling  the  characters  by 
name,  to  demonstrate  what  a  foundation  of  selfish- 


23 

ness  was  covered  by  the  veneer  of  affection  people 
are  so  fond  of  exhibiting.  The  peasant  would  listen 
silently,  wearing  a  foolish  grin,  pretending  to  be 
stupid  in  order  to  escape  the  necessity  of  answering, 
and  admitting  in  the  depth  of  his  inmost  heart  that 
the  doctor  read  him  like  an  open  book,  and  that  one 
could  have  no  secrets  from  that  devil  of  a  man. 

His  talk  upon  marriage,  the  family,  religion, 
property,  the  judiciary,  the  administration  itself, 
was  directed  by  the  blackest  psychology.  But  his 
chief  victim  was  the  cure  of  Ecoulandres,  an  old 
friend  who  did  not  take  abuse  without  virulent 
retaliation,  which  led  to  curious  fencing  bouts 
between  the  two. 

The  truth  is  that  the  two  men  had  a  great  liking  for 
each  other.  Both  of  them  were  remnants  of  the 
France  of  the  eighteenth  century,  both  suffering  from 
the  same  stab  of  disillusion  which  the  Revolution  and 
the  Empire  had  driven  into  their  fondest  dreams.  The 
doctor  found  vent  in  wrath,  the  Abbe  in  resignation. 
Fundamentally  alike  in  their  wounded  ideality,  they 
sought  each  other  out  in  the  obstinate  hope  of  agree- 
ing, yet  met  only  to  offend,  and  to  spend  their  strength 
in  painful  and  useless  strife,  parting  with  bruised 
hearts  and  great  oaths  never  to  meet  again,  only  to 
rush  together  on  the  following  day. 

The  Abbe  Jaud,  like  his  inseparable  enemy,  was  of 
more  than  ordinary  height,  and  without  the  cassock 
clinging  to  his  lean  sides  might  at  fifty  paces  have 


24  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

been  taken  for  him.  The  doctor's  excuse  for  fre- 
quenting the  Abbe  was  that  he  could  talk  to  him 
without  stooping.  When  the  two  tall  silhouettes 
were  outlined  against  the  horizon  at  the  edge  of  the 
plain  they  might  have  been  taken  for  one  and  the 
same  man.  They  were,  in  truth,  one  man  in  two 
persons. 

In  their  last  years  death  naturally  formed  the 
inexhaustible  topic  of  their  conversation.  The 
doctor  had,  he  used  to  say,  determined  to  die  before 
the  Abbe,  in  order  to  force  him  to  perform  an  act  of 
supreme  hypocrisy  by  obliging  him  to  bury  with 
every  formality  the  man  who,  having  proclaimed 
himself  an  atheist  all  his  days,  had  refused  with  his 
latest  breath  to  put  himself  in  order  with  the  Church. 

"One  talks  like  that,"  said  the  Abbe.  "When  on 
the  verge  of  the  great  step,  one  changes  one's  mind." 

"Mine  will  not  change." 

"Then,  my  dear  Doctor,  I  shall  be  under  the  pain- 
ful necessity  of  letting  you  go  unaccompanied  to  the 
grave." 

"Not  so.  You  will  accompany  me.  You  will 
mutter  your  Pater  Nosters,  let  me  assure  you.  You 
will  sprinkle  my  coffin  with  holy  water.  You  will 
sing  psalms,  clad  in  your  finest  stole.  You  will  say  a 
mass  with  all  the  fallals,  and  you  will  not  leave  me 
until  you  have  provided  me  with  a  proper  passport  in 
due  form." 

"Cease  blaspheming,  or  I  must  refuse  to  listen." 


25 

"A  fine  way  to  dispose  of  a  difficulty!  Do  you 
know  where  I  wish  to  be  buried  by  your  good  agency, 
Abb6?  In  the  unconsecrated  part  of  the  graveyard. 
Once  upon  a  time  the  earth  as  well  as  the  skies  be- 
longed to  you.  You  laid  claims  to  this  planet  as 
your  property,  and  no  one  had  the  right  to  rot  under 
ground  save  by  your  leave.  Six  feet  of  sod  had  to  be 
wrested  from  you  by  mam  force  to  bury  Moliere! 
To-day,  at  last,  we  have  taken  back  control  over  our 
earth.  We  have  conquered  the  right  to  a  peaceful 
return  to  nothingness.  And  now,  to  foster  the 
illusion  of  getting  even,  and  to  shut  yourselves  to  the 
very  end  in  your  secular  spirit,  you  have  devised 
nothing  better  than  to  create  an  unhallowed  portion 
in  the  field  of  eternal  rest.  The  other  day,  when  I 
went  there  to  select  a  spot  to  my  liking,  did  not  a  fool 
of  a  peasant  say  to  me:  'You  mustn't  be  buried 
there,  Doctor,  that  corner  is  reserved  for  those 
condemned  to  death.'  To  be  'condemned  to  death' 
seemed  to  that  idiot  the  utmost  of  horror.  He  does  not 
realize  that  he — that  they — that  you — that  we  are  all 
in  the  same  case,  my  poor  Abbe.  Well,  I  chose  my 
spot.  I  had  a  great  stake  driven  there,  so  that  there 
should  be  no  mistake.  Go  and  have  a  look  at  it, 
Abbe,  for  it  is  there  that  you  will  with  pomp  and 
ceremony,  according  to  your  rites,  deposit  me  in 
unhallowed  ground." 

"That  will  never  be,  my  dear  Doctor." 
"That  will  surely  be,  my  dear  Abbe." 


26  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

A  few  months  later,  the  doctor,  after  lying  in  wait 
for  plovers  on  the  Plain  (it  was  Christmas  Eve,  and 
he  was  then  more  than  eighty  years  old),  returned 
home  shivering  with  fever.  A  pleurisy  set  in  on  the 
following  day,  and  soon  death  was  rapidly  nearing. 

The  Abbe  was  by  his  bedside,  as  will  have  been 
surmised.  When  he  saw  that  there  was  no  hope  of 
recovery : 

"Come,  my  dear  friend,"  he  began,  having  sent 
away  the  bystanders,  "do  you  not  think  it  fitting,  in 
this  hour,  to  speak  seriously  of  serious  things?" 

"Hush,"  said  the  dying  man,  placing  a  thin, 
feverish  finger  on  the  priest's  lips.  "We  have  said  all 
there  was  to  be  said,  and  there  is  nothing  more  to  say. 
Take  the  key  under  my  pillow— open  that  drawer — 
and  give  me  my  will — the  drawer  on  the  left — hand 
me  also  a  pen — I  wish  to  add  a  line." 

The  Abbe  did  as  he  was  requested.  The  trembling 
hand  wrote  a  few  words,  then  the  head  fell  back  on 
the  pillow.  The  old  man  was  dying.  An  hour  later 
Doctor  Jean  du  Pouet  had  breathed  his  last. 

The  will  when  opened  ran  thus: 

"I  die  in  absolute  unbelief,  refusing  to  perform 
any  act  of  faith.  I  bequeathe  my  fortune,  which 
amounts  approximately  to  100,000  francs,  to  the 
church  of  Ecoulandres,  for  the  purchase,  under  the 
direction  of  M.  the  Abbe  Jaud,  of  ornaments  of  the 
cult,  as  sumptuous  as  the  sum  permits.  This  in  the 
hope  that  the  sight  of  such  wealth  in  contrast  with 


A  DESCENDANT  OF  TIMON  27 

their  own  poverty  will  awaken  appropriate  senti- 
ment in  the  souls  of  my  fellow  citizens.  I  desire  to 
be  buried  in  the  unconsecrated  part  of  the  cemetery, 
in  the  spot  where  six  months  ago  I  caused  a  stake  to 
be  driven.  If  the  Church  should  refuse  me  her 
prayers,  the  disposition  above  described  will  be  held 
null  and  void.  In  that  case  I  name  as  my  sole 
legatee  Toussaint  Giraudeau,  apothecary  of  Sainte 
Hermine,  and  President  of  the  Masonic  Lodge 
named  *  Fraternity.'  I  desire  him  to  distribute  the 
inheritance  as  he  shall  think  best  among  those 
Masonic  activities  most  especially  directed  against 
superstition  and  mummery." 

Under  the  signature  were  added  these  words: 

"I  shall  be  dead  within  the  hour.  Nothing  to 
change,"  and  the  name,  in  a  large,  shaky  hand- 
writing, which,  by  the  emphasis  of  the  downward 
stroke  told,  however,  of  an  inflexible  will. 

The  Abbe  Jaud's  first  impulse  was  one  of  haughty 
refusal,  but  his  second  was  to  go  and  consult  his 
bishop,  who  made  clear  to  him  that  highest  duty  lay 
in  presenting  every  obstacle  to  Free  Masonry.  He 
was  obliged  to  obey.  The  doctor  in  his  grave  had 
the  last  word,  his  face  twisted  with  sardonic  laughter 
under  the  holy  water  sprinkled  by  the  discomfited 
Abbe. 

The  infants  born  before  their  time  who  filled  in  the 
cemetery  of  Ecoulandres,  "the  corner  reserved  for 
those  condemned  to  death,"  gained  this  much  by  the 


28  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

event,  that  the  earth  they  lay  in  was  blessed.  In  that 
respect,  at  least,  one  of  the  doctor's  predictions  was 
unfulfilled. 

But  the  Abbe's  real  revenge,  although  he  was 
perhaps  unaware  of  it,  was  that  the  sight  of  the 
magnificent  golden  chalices  and  monstrances  orna- 
mented with  precious  stones,  far  from  arousing 
rebellion  in  the  hearts  of  the  poor,  as  the  doctor  had 
intended,  only  increased  the  fervour  of  the  faithful, 
and  provoked  the  piety  of  the  indifferent  by  wonder 
at  the  splendour  in  which  the  power  of  the  Invisible 
revealed  itself.  Victory  and  defeat  on  both  sides. 
Blows  struck  in  the  darkness  of  the  Unknown.  And 
so  passes  the  life  of  man. 


MALUS  VICINUS 


in 

MALUS  VICINUS 

SAINT-JUIRS  is  the  name  of  a  village  in  the 
canton  of  Sainte  Hermine.  Lying  on  the 
slope  of  a  hill,  it  overlooks  a  fresh,  grassy 
valley  planted  with  poplars  and  watered  by  a  brook 
which  has  no  recorded  name.  A  very  modest 
Romanesque  church  laboriously  hoists  skyward  a 
heavy  stone  belfry  amid  a  clump  of  elm  and  nut 
trees.  The  ruins  of  an  old  castle  degenerated  from 
the  dignity  of  a  stronghold  to  the  simple  rank  of  a 
country  residence  testifies  that  here,  possibly,  some 
notable  event  may  have  taken  place.  But  as  the 
inhabitants  have  forgotten  it,  and  have  no  care  to 
search  it  out,  they  live  in  absolute  indifference  to  a 
thing  that  is  not  their  direct  business.  Their 
village  appears  to  them  like  all  other  villages,  their 
church,  their  houses,  their  fields,  their  beasts,  like  all 
other  churches  and  houses  and  fields  and  beasts. 
They  only  vaguely  take  in  the  idea  of  other  countries 
on  the  earth.  The  newspapers  tell  them  of  unknown 
lands  and  of  strange  doings;  it  all  seems  to  belong  to 
some  other  world.  What  does  it  matter  to  them, 
anyhow,  since  they  have  no  intention  of  ever  stirring, 

31 


32  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

and  since  nothing  will  ever  happen  to  them?  For 
them  the  past  is  without  interest,  and  the  future  does 
not  mar  the  peace  of  their  slumbers.  The  present 
means  the  crops,  the  flocks,  and  the  weather.  For 
the  things  of  Heaven  there  is  the  cure,  for  the  things 
of  earth  there  are  the  mayor,  the  notary,  the  customs 
officer,  and  the  tax  collector:  a  simplification  of 
life. 

Markets  and  fairs  purvey  to  the  restless  cravings  of 
such  as  are  curious  about  outside  happenings,  but  no 
inhabitant  of  Saint-Juirs  would  entertain  the  absurd 
idea  that  any  trace  of  an  event  worth  relating  was  to 
be  found  hi  his  own  village.  Love  itself  is  without 
drama,  owing  to  the  lack  of  stiffness  in  rustic  morals, 
which  precludes  excesses  of  imagination  by  reducing 
to  the  proportions  of  newspaper  items  the  con- 
junctions natural  to  our  kind.  There  are,  doubtless, 
disputes  hi  Saint-Juirs  as  elsewhere,  in  connection 
with  property  rights,  for  "thine"  and  "mine," 
which  are  the  foundation  of  "social  order,"  are  likewise 
a  permanent  cause  of  disorder  among  men.  Tres- 
passing in  a  pasture,  the  use  of  a  well,  a  right  of 
way,  the  branch  of  a  tree  reaching  beyond  a  line,  a 
hedge  encroaching  upon  a  ditch,  result  in  quarrels, 
lawsuits,  and  dissension  hi  families,  the  importance  of 
which  is  no  less  to  the  small  townspeople  than  was 
the  feud  between  Capulets  and  Montagues  to  Verona 
Centuries  pass,  the  man  of  the  past  and  the  man  of 
to-day  meet  on  common  ground  in  displaying  the 


MALUS  VICINUS  33 

same  old  violence,  to  which  sometimes  even  the 
excuse  of  interests  involved  is  wanting,  as  happened 
when  Benvolio  drew  his  sword  upon  a  burgher  of 
Verona  who  had  taken  the  liberty  to  cough  in  the 
street,  and  thereby  waked  his  dog  asleep  in  the  sun- 
shine. 

The  peaceful  inhabitant  of  Saint-Juirs  is  a  stranger 
to  such  vagaries.  Yet  a  Latin  inscription  above  a 
door  on  the  church  square  testifies  to  the  fact  that  a 
local  scholar  took  to  heart  those  neighbourly  quarrels 
to  the  point  of  wishing  to  leave  some  memory  of 
them  to  posterity.  A  plain  stone  door-frame  gives 
access  to  a  little  garden  surrounded  by  high  walls. 
Behind  box  hedges  a  house  may  be  seen,  rather 
broad  than  high,  built  apparently  as  far  back  as  the 
last  century,  and  looking  much  like  other  houses  of 
the  period.  A  servant  comes  out  carrying  a  laundry 
basket.  A  woman  is  sewing  at  the  window.  The 
door  closes  again.  Nothing  more.  Mechanically 
the  eye  travels  back  to  the  cracked  stone  whereon 
stands  deeply  engraved  the  following  wise  epigraph: 
"Malus  vicinus  est  grande  malum. " 

I  have  often  passed  by,  and  while  freely  granting 
that  a  bad  neighbour  is  indeed  a  great  evil,  have 
always  wondered  what  epic  strife  was  recorded  by 
this  dolorous  exclamation.  Was  the  inscription  the 
vengeance  of  the  impotent,  the  amiable  irony  of  a 
philosopher,  resigned  to  the  inevitable,  or  the  tri- 
umphant cry  of  the  unrighteous,  eager  to  deceive  by 


34  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

blaming  for  his  own  fault  the  inoffensive  being  who 
had  no  choice  but  to  remain  silent?  I  gazed  at  the 
house  of  God,  twenty  paces  distant.  I  wondered 
whether  this  ecclesiastical  Latin  might  not  be 
ascribed  to  some  man  of  the  church.  Who  else 
would  know  the  sacred  language  sufficiently  well  to 
attain  this  degree  of  epigraphic  platitude?  Was 
there  not  in  the  mildness  of  the  method  of  revenge  a 
flavour  of  the  seminary?  A  real  man  harassed  by  a 
bad  neighbour  would  have  responded  by  blows  in 
kind.  A  priest  was  more  likely  to  strike  back  with  a 
sentence  out  of  the  breviary.  So  I  reflected,  question- 
ing the  unanswering  stone,  and  never  dreaming  that 
chance  would  one  day  bring  me  the  solution  of  the 
problem. 

Chance  knocked  at  my  door  a  few  years  ago  in  the 
shape  of  a  little  account  book  found  in  the  study  of  a 
lawyer,  my  neighbour,  and  fallen  through  inheritance 
into  the  possession  of  a  friend  of  mine.  It  is  a 
manuscript  copy-book  of  which  only  a  dozen  pages 
are  covered  by  accounts.  On  the  parchment  cover 
the  two  words  "Malus  vicinus"  met  my  eye.  Turn- 
ing over  the  blank  pages  I  discovered  that  the  little 
notebook  had  been  commenced  at  both  ends — 
accounts  at  the  front,  and  notes  at  the  back  of  the 
volume.  I  found  various  items  of  information 
concerning  births,  deaths,  and  inheritances.  At  the 
beginning  the  date  1811.  The  well-known  names 
of  several  Saint-Juirs  families  passed  under  my 


MALUS  VICINUS  35 

eyes.  Then  came  the  fateful  title  "Malus  vicinus," 
followed  by  a  long  and  terribly  tangled  story.  It 
was  the  secret  of  the  door  that  was  there  revealed  to 
me.  A  priests'  quarrel,  as  I  had  fancied. 

The  Abbe  Gobert  and  the  Abbe  Rousseau,  both 
natives  of  Saint-Juirs,  had  been  ordained  upon 
leaving  the  seminary  of  Lugon,  in  about  1760.  The 
book  contains  nothing  concerning  their  families. 
One  may  suppose  them  both  to  have  been  of  good 
middle-class  origin.  Each  manifestly  had  "a  cer- 
tain place  in  the  sun."  They  were  warm  friends 
up  to  the  time  of  their  ordination,  which  brought 
about  inevitable  separation.  Abbe  Gobert  was 
installed  as  vicar  at  Vieux  Pouzauges  whose  curb  was 
to  sit  in  the  Constituency  among  the  partisans  of  the 
new  order;  Abbe  Rousseau  was  sent  to  Mortagne- 
sur-Sevres,  in  the  heart  of  what  was  destined  to  be  the 
territory  of  the  Chouans. 

Concerning  their  life  up  to  the  beginning  of  the 
Revolution  we  know  nothing,  except  that  they 
remained  on  friendly  terms.  They  often  visited 
each  other.  The  walk  from  Pouzauges  to  Mortagne 
following  the  ridge  of  the  hills  of  the  Woodland  is  one 
of  the  most  picturesque  in  our  lovely  western  France, 
so  rich  in  beautiful  landscapes.  Very  pleasant  are 
its  valleys,  watered  by  crystalline  brooks  flowing 
musically  over  pebbly  beds;  they  are  everywhere 
intersected  by  hedges  behind  which  in  serried  ranks 
rise  shady  thickets,  inviolate  sanctuary  of  rural 


36  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

peace.  There  might  the  peasant  be  born  and  die 
with  never  the  least  knowledge  of  the  outer  world. 
Thirty  years  ago  specimens  of  the  kind  were  still  to 
be  found.  If,  however,  you  follow  one  of  the  road- 
cuts  under  the  heavy,  overarching  boughs  and  labor- 
iously climb  the  steep  rise  amid  granite  rocks  and 
thick  tufts  of  gorse  mingling  with  brambles,  which 
drape  themselves  from  one  to  another  tree  stump 
centuries  old,  you  emerge  suddenly  and  as  if  miracu- 
lously into  the  very  sky,  whence  all  the  earth  is  visible. 
Northward  as  far  as  the  Loire,  where  rise  the  towers 
of  Saint  Peter's  in  Nantes,  westward  as  far  as  the 
sea,  stretches  an  immense  garden  of  verdure  bathed 
in  that  translucent  bluish  light  which  unites  earth 
and  sky  and  gives  the  sense  of  our  planet  launched 
in  infinite  space.  But  to  this  day  man  and  beast 
contemplate  this  marvellous  spectacle  with  the  same 
indifferent  eye. 

In  those  days,  the  preaching  of  the  Gospel  to 
peasants  still  stupefied  from  serfdom,  by  a  clergy 
whose  leaders  prided  themselves  upon  their  unbelief, 
in  nowise  resembled  the  stultifying  mummeries  of  to- 
day. When  Abbe  Gobert  and  Abbe  Rousseau,  arm 
in  arm,  stopped  at  some  farmhouse  for  noonday  rest 
after  a  frugal  meal,  their  free  speech  would  doubtless 
startle  many  a  modern  seminarist.  Their  views  of 
the  future  were  perhaps  not  very  different.  The 
ardent  liberalism  of  the  good  curt  of  Pouzauges  could 
not  have  been  unknown  to  his  vicar,  and  how  could 


MALUS  VICINUS  37 

the  latter,  open  as  he  was  to  the  new  ideas,  have  re- 
frained from  unbosoming  himself  to  his  friend? 

Meanwhile,  every  day  witnessed  the  rising  of  the 
revolutionary  tide.  Under  a  tranquil  surface,  un- 
known forces  were  gathering  for  the  devastating 
tempests  soon  to  rage.  Finally  the  hurricane  broke 
loose,  and  its  tornadoes  of  fire  and  iron  shook  the 
quiet  Woodland.  There  was  no  time  for  reflection. 
Everyone  was  swept  into  the  conflict  without  a 
chance  to  know  his  own  mind.  Abbe  Rousseau, 
belonging  to  the  "White  Vendee,"  could  not  refuse  to 
follow  his  boys  when  they  asked  him  to  accompany 
them,  declaring  that  they  were  "going  to  fight  God's 
battle."  Abbe  Gobert  of  the  "Blue  Vendee" 
found  nothing  to  answer  when  his  compatriots  told 
him  that  they  refused  to  make  common  cause  with 
the  foreigner  against  France,  and  that  the  Revolu- 
tion was  nothing  more  or  less  than  the  fulfilment  of 
the  Gospels  on  earth,  despite  the  Pharisees  of  the 
ancient  order,  who  while  invoking  the  name  of 
heaven  appropriated  all  earthly  privileges. 

The  adventures  of  the  two  Abbes  during  the  war 
are  not  set  down  in  the  manuscript.  There  is 
mention  of  Abbe  Rousseau  being  transferred  to 
Stofflet's  army,  but  no  comment.  Further  on  a  note 
of  three  short  lines  in  telegraphic  style  tells  us  that 
Abbe  Gobert,  "following  his  fatal  bent,"  secularized 
himself,  took  up  arms,  and  was  left  for  dead  at  the 
taking  of  Fontenay.  We  are  not  told  what  saved  him. 


38  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

The  writer  of  the  little  book  now  makes  a  jump  to 
the  Consulate,  and  we  learn  that  the  "reestablish- 
ment  of  the  cult,"  at  the  Concordat,  resulted  in  the 
installation  of  Abbe  Rousseau  as  officiating  priest  in 
his  native  place  of  Saint-Juirs.  Three  years  later, 
Gobert,  then  a  "refugee  in  Paris,"  where  he  "was 
writing  for  the  newspapers,"  returned  to  his  old 
home,  his  fortune  having  been  increased  by  an 
inheritance  from  his  uncle  Jean  Renaud,  owner  of  the 
house  now  adorned  by  the  Latin  inscription.  Des- 
tiny, after  having  violently  separated  the  two  men 
and  set  them  at  odds  in  a  bitter  war,  now  suddenly 
brought  them  together  in  their  native  place,  where 
they  might  have  the  opportunity  for  an  honest 
searching  of  their  consciences,  for  justifications,  and, 
before  the  end  of  life,  possibly,  reconciliation. 

On  the  day  after  his  arrival  Gobert  came  face  to 
face  with  Abbe  Rousseau  in  the  church  square.  He 
went  straight  to  him,  with  hands  outstretched.  The 
other,  not  having  had  time  to  put  himself  on  guard, 
was  unable  to  withstand  a  friendly  impulse.  The 
eyes  of  each  scrutinizingly  questioned  the  other,  but 
every  dangerous  word  was  avoided.  The  Abbe, 
moreover,  cut  short  the  interview  with  the  excuse  of 
being  expected  at  the  bedside  of  a  sick  man.  They 
had  parted  with  the  understanding  that  they  should 
soon  see  each  other  again,  but  two  days  later,  Gobert, 
going  up  to  the  Abbe  who  was  passing,  received  a 
curt  bow  from  him,  unaccompanied  by  a  word  of 


MALUS  VICINUS  39 

even  perfunctory  courtesy.  It  meant  the  end  of 
friendly  intercourse.  The  meeting  between  the 
"annointed  of  the  Lord"  and  the  "unfrocked  priest" 
had  created  a  scandal  in  the  community  of  the 
faithful,  and  Master  Pierre  Gaborit,  President  of  the 
vestry  board,  had  called  his  cur6  roundly  to  account. 
Could  a  chaplain  of  the  King's  armies  afford  to  be 
seen  consorting  with  a  tool  of  Satan,  a  renegade 
living  amid  the  filth  of  apostasy,  a  man  who,  the 
report  ran,  had  danced  the  Carmagnole  at  the  foot  of 
the  scaffold? 

The  disconcerted  Abbe  listened,  shaking  his  head. 

"He  was  a  good  fellow,  and  a  godly  one,  when  I 
knew  him  formerly,  at  the  seminary.  He  is  perhaps 
not  as  guilty  as  they  say — I  hoped  to  bring  him  back 
into  the  fold— 

"One  does  not  bring  back  the  Devil,"  replied 
Gaborit,  violently.  "You  do  not  wish  to  be  a 
stumbling  block,  do  you,  Monsieur  le  Cur6?" 

"No — no "  replied  the  Abbe,  who  already  saw 

himself  denounced,  excommunicated,  damned. 

From  that  day  onward  relations  between  the  priest 
and  his  ancient  comrade  limited  themselves  to  a  mu- 
tual raising  of  the  hat,  for  the  Abbe  never  found  the 
courage  to  ignore  "the  renegade,"  as  Gaborit  would 
have  wished  him  to.  That  is  why  the  latter  conceived 
the  plan  of  forestalling  any  eventual  relapse  into 
weakness  by  fostering  between  the  man  of  God  and 
the  man  of  the  Devil  every  possible  cause  for  enmity. 


40  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

Abbe  Rousseau  owned  the  house  next  to  Gobert's, 
and  Gaborit  had  rented  it  for  his  newly  married  son. 
A  party  wall,  a  common  well,  contiguous  fields  and 
rights  of  way  through  them,  were  more  than  sufficient 
to  give  rise  to  daily  friction.  After  some  resistance, 
Abbe  Rousseau,  under  the  pretext  that  he  could  have 
"no  dealings  with  Satan's  emissary,"  let  himself  be 
convinced  that  he  must  refuse  all  customary  "rights" 
to  the  "  enemy."  Gobert's  remonstrances  obtained 
no  attention,  and  thereupon  followed  lawsuits.  A 
bucket  of  lime  was  thrown  into  his  well.  The  trees 
in  his  orchard  were  hacked  with  a  bill  hook.  His 
hens  disappeared.  Investigation  by  a  bailiff  ensued, 
and  the  arrival  of  the  police,  who  had  first  been  to 
take  instructions  at  the  rectory.  For  a  trifling 
bribe,  the  servant  of  the  "accused"  permitted  the 
"revolutionary"  cow  to  stray  into  the  clerical  hay 
field.  This  time  Abbe  Rousseau  could  do  no  less 
than  to  denounce  the  crime  from  the  pulpit.  A 
somewhat  distorted  version  of  the  entire  Revolution 
was  rehearsed. 

Gobert,  who  like  Talleyrand,  similarly  unfrocked, 
would  perhaps  have  ended  in  the  arms  of  the  Church, 
had  he  been  important  enough  to  stimulate  the  zeal 
of  a  Dupanloup,  experienced  more  surprise  than 
anger  at  all  these  vexations.  What  surprised  him 
most  was  to  find  that  justice  was  unjust.  Having 
become  a  philosopher,  however,  he  resigned  himself. 
Only  the  loss  of  his  friend  caused  him  grief.  He 


MALUS  VICINUS  41 

ended  by  suspecting  Gaborit's  manceuvres,  and 
several  times  sought  opportunity  for  an  explanation 
with  Abbe  Rousseau  himself,  but  was  met  by  obsti- 
nate silence. 

It  was  then  that,  for  the  sake  of  reaching  his 
former  fellow  student  in  spite  of  everything,  by  a 
word  in  the  language  familiar  to  both,  he  had  had 
engraved  on  the  lintel  of  his  door  the  inscription 
which  denounced  Gaborit  as  the  cause  of  their  com- 
mon misfortune.  Daily,  as  he  came  out  of  his 
rectory,  Abbe  Rousseau  could  read  the  touching 
appeal  which  laid  his  guilt  upon  another.  But  the 
"glory  of  God"  never  permitted  him  to  answer,  as  in 
the  depth  of  his  heart  he  would  have  liked  to  do. 

He  was  the  first  to  die.  To  the  great  scandal  of  all 
Gobert,  "the  excommunicated,"  followed  him  to  the 
grave.  On  the  very  next  day  he  gave  orders  to  have 
the  inscription  removed,  since  it  served  no  further 
purpose.  The  masons  were  soon  at  work,  and  a 
clumsy  blow  had  already  split  the  stone,  when  the 
ex-abbe  was  carried  off  suddenly  by  a  pernicious 
fever.  Things  remained  as  they  may  be  seen  at  the 
present  day.  Gobert  went  without  church  cere- 
monies to  rest  in  the  graveyard,  not  far  from  his  old 
friend.  They  are  still  neighbours,  but  good  neigh- 
bours, now,  and  for  a  long  time! 


AUNT  ROSALIE'S  INHERITANCE 


MADEMOISELLE  ROSALIE  RIGAL  was 
by  unanimous  admission  the  most  im- 
portant person  in  the  village.  And  yet  the 
hamlet  of  St.  Martin-en-Pareds,  in  the  Woodland 
of  the  Vendee,  boasts  a  former  court  notary  who 
without  great  difficulty  was  allowed  to  drop  out  of 
the  profession,  and  a  retired  sergeant  of  police  who 
keeps  the  tobacconist's  shop.  Around  these  digni- 
taries are  grouped  a  few  well-to-do  farmers  and  a 
dozen  or  more  small  landowners  who,  although 
obliged  to  work  for  a  living,  have  a  sense  of  their 
importance  in  the  State.  When  they  speak  of  "my 
field,"  "my  cow,"  "my  fence,"  the  ring  of  their 
voice  expresses  the  elation  of  the  conqueror  who  in 
this  infinite  universe  has  set  his  clutch  upon  a  portion 
of  the  planet  and  has  no  intention  of  letting  go. 

No  one  is  unaware  that  the  chief  joy  of  country 
people  is  to  surround  themselves  with  hedges  or 
walls,  and  to  despise  those  who  cannot  do  as  much. 
That  their  admiration,  their  esteem,  their  respect,  go 
out  automatically  to  wealth  is  a  trait  they  share  with 
city  people,  which  spares  us  the  necessity  of  a  detailed 

45 


46  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

psychological  analysis.  Who,  then,  shall  explain  the 
unanimous  deference  with  which  St.  Martin-en- 
Pareds  honoured  Miss  Rosalie  Rigal? 

The  aged  spinster — she  was  entering  upon  her 
seventieth  year — possessed  nothing  under  the  sun 
but  a  tiny  cottage,  not  in  very  good  repair,  but 
shining  and  spotless  from  front  door  steps  to  roof 
tiles,  at  the  end  of  a  narrow  little  garden  scarcely 
wider  than  the  path  to  her  door.  Such  a  domain  was 
not  calculated  to  attract  to  its  mistress  the  admiring 
attention  of  her  fellow  townsmen.  The  interior  of 
the  dwelling  was  extremely  modest.  A  large  oaken 
bedstead  with  carved  posts,  a  common  deal  dining 
table,  a  few  rush-bottomed  chairs  and  Miss  Rosalie's 
armchair,  were  all  the  furniture  of  the  room  in 
which  she  lived.  On  the  walls  were  holy  pictures. 
On  the  mantelpiece  a  tarnished  bronze  gilt  clock,  rep- 
resenting a  savage  Turk  carrying  off  on  his  gallop- 
ing steed  a  weeping  Christian  maiden,  had  as  far 
back  as  any  one  could  remember  pointed  to  a  quarter 
before  twelve. 

At  the  window-door  leading  to  the  street  and 
letting  in  the  light  of  day  Miss  Rosalie  sat  with  her 
knitting  from  sun-up  to  sun-down.  Hence  arose 
difficulties  of  entrance  and  exit.  When  a  visitor 
appeared,  Miss  Rosalie  would  call  Victorine.  The 
servant  would  come,  help  her  mistress  to  rise,  as  she 
did  slowly  and  stiffly,  move  the  armchair,  settle  the 
old  woman  in  it  again,  propping  her  with  special 


AUNT  ROSALIE'S  INHERITANCE       47 

cushions  in  stated  places,  move  the  foot  stool  or  the 
foot  warmer,  push  out  of  the  way  the  little  stand 
which  served  as  a  work  table,  and  open  the  door  with 
endless  excuses  for  the  delay. 

No  fewer  ceremonies  were  necessary  than  in  seek- 
ing an  audience  with  the  Sun-God.  If  Victorine 
were  busy  with  the  housework,  she  sometimes 
obliged  a  caller  to  wait.  Which  gave  Miss  Rosalie's 
door  step  a  reputation  as  the  most  favourable  spot 
in  the  entire  canton  for  catching  cold. 

In  spite  of  these  inconveniences  visitors  were  not 
wanting.  Foremost  among  the  assiduous  ones  were 
the  notary  and  the  cur6.  Monsieur  Loiseau,  the 
retired  notary,  was  the  friend  of  the  house.  A  stout 
man,  with  a  florid,  smooth  shaven  face,  and  a  head 
even  smoother  than  his  chin,  always  in  a  good  humour, 
always  full  of  amusing  stories,  yet  concealing  under  his 
idle  tales  and  his  laughter  a  professional  man's  concern 
with  serious  matters,  as  was  betokened  by  the  ever- 
present  white  cravat,  badge  of  his  dignity,  which 
added  an  official  touch  even  to  his  hunting  costume  and 
to  the  undress  of  his  gardening  or  vintaging  attire. 

The  love  of  gardening  was  well  developed  in 
Monsieur  Loiseau,  and  as  he  was  especially  fond  of 
Miss  Rosalie,  he  delighted  in  coming  to  hoe  her 
flower  beds,  to  tend  her  plants  and  water  them, 
chatting  with  her  the  while.  The  old  lady  during 
this  would  be  seated  in  the  garden,  near  a  spot  where 
a  deep  niche  in  the  wall  had  made  it  possible  to  cut  a 


48  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

loophole  commanding  the  street.  From  her  point  of 
vantage  she  could  watch  all  St.  Martin,  and  without 
moving  keep  in  touch  with  its  daily  events,  which 
gave  her  inexhaustible  food  for  comment. 

So  close  became  the  friendship  between  these  two, 
that  the  notary  one  day  announced  that  if  certain  old 
documents  once  seen  by  him  at  the  county  town 
could  be  trusted,  there  was  no  doubt  that  their  two 
families  were  related.  From  that  moment  Miss 
Rosalie  Rigal  became  "Aunt  Rosalie"  to  Monsieur 
Loiseau,  and  as  the  relationship  was  one  which  any- 
body might  claim,  Miss  Rosalie  soon  found  herself 
"Aunt"  to  the  entire  village.  She  duly  appreciated 
the  honour  of  this  large  connection,  and  with  pride  in 
the  universal  friendliness,  which  seemed  to  her  a 
natural  return  for  her  own  rather  indiscriminate  good 
will  toward  all,  she  let  herself  softly  float  on  the 
pleasure  of  being  held  in  veneration  by  everyone  in 
St.  Martin,  which  for  her  represented  the  universe. 

The  curS,  who  lived  at  two  kilometers'  distance, 
could  come  to  see  her  only  at  irregular  intervals. 
But  a  lift  in  a  carriage,  or  even  a  friendly  cart,  often 
facilitated  the  journey,  and  although  Aunt  Rosalie 
was  not  in  the  least  devout,  despite  the  saintly 
pictures  on  her  walls,  the  long  conversations  between 
her  and  the  cure,  from  which  the  notary  was  ex- 
cluded, gave  rise  to  the  popular  belief  that  they  had 
"secrets"  together. 

And  the  supposition   was  correct.     There  were 


AUNT  ROSALIE'S  INHERITANCE       49 

"secrets"  between  Aunt  Rosalie  and  the  priest. 
There  were  likewise  "secrets"  between  Aunt  Rosalie 
and  the  notary,  and  they  were,  to  be  plain,  money 
secrets.  For  the  irresistible  attraction  which  drew 
all  St.  Martin-en-Pareds  to  Aunt  Rosalie's  feet  must 
here  be  explained.  The  simple-minded  old  spinster 
supposed  it  the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world;  she 
fancied  her  amiable  qualities  sufficient  to  engage  the 
benevolent  affection  of  all  who  knew  her.  Un- 
deniably Aunt  Rosalie's  good  humour  and  quiet  fun 
were  infinitely  calculated  to  foster  friendly  neighbourly 
relations.  But  there  was  more  to  it  than  the  un- 
inquiring  good  soul  suspected. 

Aunt  Rosalie  was  a  poor  relation  of  certain 
enormously  rich  people  in  the  neighbouring  canton. 
She  was  a  grand  niece  of  the  famous  Jean  Bretaud, 
whose  lucky  speculations  had  made  him  the  most 
important  man  in  the  district.  The  Bretauds  had 
entirely  forgotten  the  relationship  and,  taking  the 
opposite  course  from  the  notary,  would  probably 
have  denied  it  had  Aunt  Rosalie  claimed  it. 

Aunt  Rosalie  claimed  nothing,  but  she  did  not 
forget  her  family.  When  evening  fell,  and  the 
blinds  were  closed,  and  the  doors  securely  locked: 
"Victorine,  go  and  bring  the  documents,"  she  would 
say,  after  a  glance  all  around  to  make  sure  that  no  one 
could  spy  on  her  in  the  mysterious  elaborations  of  the 
work  under  way.  At  these  words,  Victorine,  with 
sudden  gravity,  would  extract  from  the  wardrobe  a 


50  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

little  flat  box,  cunningly  tied  with  string,  and  place  it 
respectfully  on  the  table,  after  having  with  much  ado 
untied  the  knots  and  unrolled  the  complicated  wrap- 
pings which  guarded  the  treasure  from  the  gaze  of 
the  profane. 

The  treasure  was  simply  a  genealogy  of  the 
Bretauds  with  authentic  documents  to  support  it. 
As  soon  as  the  papers  had  been  spread  out  under  the 
lamplight,  and  set  in  order,  the  work  would  begin. 
The  point  was  to  discover  what  catastrophes  would 
have  to  occur  in  the  Bretaud  family  before  the  millions 
could  fall  into  Aunt  Rosalie's  purse.  A  considerable 
number  of  combinations  were  conceivable,  and  it 
was  to  the  examination  of  them  all  that  Aunt  Rosalie 
and  Victorine  devoted  their  nightly  labour.  A  quan- 
tity of  sheets  of  white  paper  covered  with  pencil 
scribbling  showed  incredible  entanglements  of  cal- 
culation and  rudimentary  arithmetical  systems. 

"Well,  now,  how  far  had  we  got?"  said  Aunt 
Rosalie. 

"We  had  ended  with  the  death  of  your  grand  niece 
Eulalie,  Miss,"  said  Victorine. 

"Ah,  yes,  the  dear  child.  The  fact  is,  that  if  she 
were  to  die  it  would  help  greatly.  There  are  still 
two  cousins  left  who  would  have  claims  prior  to 
mine,  it  is  true.  But  they  have  very  poor  health  in 
that  branch  of  the  family." 

"I  heard  the  other  day  that  there  was  an  epidemic 
of  scarlet  fever  in  their  neighbourhood." 


AUNT  ROSALIE'S  INHERITANCE       51 

"Ah!    Ah!" 

"And  then  they  go  to  Paris  so  often.  A  railway 
accident  might  so  easily  happen." 

"  Ah,  yes !     It  is  a  matter  of  a  minute 

And  they  would  continue  in  that  tone  for  a  good 
hour,  warming  up  to  it,  comparing  the  advantages 
between  the  demise  of  this  one  and  that  one. 

As  soon  as  a  Bretaud  received  a  hypothetical 
inheritance  from  some  relative,  he  was  set  down  on 
Victorine's  slip  of  paper  as  deceased.  Presently 
there  was  strewn  around  these  gentle  maniacs  on 
the  subject  of  inheritance  a  very  hecatomb  of 
Bretauds,  such  as  the  eruption  of  Vesuvius  which 
blotted  out  Pompeii  would  not  more  than  have 
sufficed  to  bring  about.  Herself  on  the  edge  of  the 
grave,  this  septuagenarian  built  up  her  future  on  the 
dead  bodies  of  children,  youths,  men  and  women  in 
the  flower  of  life,  whom  she  theoretically  massacred 
nightly,  with  a  quiet  conscience,  before  going  to 
sleep,  she  who  would  not  willingly  have  hurt  the 
smallest  fly ! 

When  Aunt  Rosalie's  table  had  assumed  the  aspect 
of  a  vast  cemetery,  they  began  their  reckonings.  If 
only  eleven  people  were  to  die  in  a  certain  order, 
Aunt  Rosalie  would  get  so  and  so  much.  If  fourteen, 
she  would  acquire  another  and  fatter  sum.  Change 
the  order,  and  there  would  be  a  new  combination. 
They  assessed  fortunes,  and  if  they  did  not  agree  in 
their  valuations,  they  split  the  difference.  But 


52  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

whatever  happened,  the  discussion  always  ended  by 
Aunt  Rosalie  receiving  an  enormous  inheritance. 
Be  it  noted  that  whenever  a  real  death  or  birth  took 
place,  the  combinations  were  disturbed,  the  game  had 
to  be  commenced  all  over  on  a  new  basis.  This 
afforded  fresh  pleasure. 

But  the  supreme  joy  lay  in  the  distribution  of  the 
heritage.  Neither  Aunt  Rosalie  nor  Victorine  had 
any  use  for  their  treasures.  Without  personal 
needs,  the  harmless  yet  implacable  dreamers  ex- 
perienced before  the  fantastic  riches  fallen  to  them 
from  Heaven  the  delightful  embarrassment  of  human 
creatures  provided  with  the  chance  to  be  a  shining 
example  of  all  the  virtues  at  very  small  cost  to  them- 
selves. Victorine  had  never  cared  to  receive  her 
wages,  and  did  not  dream  of  claiming  them,  living  as 
she  did  in  the  constant  vision  of  barrelfuls  of  gold. 
Set  down  in  the  will  for  50,000  francs,  no  more,  she 
was  only  too  happy  to  participate  royally  hi  her 
mistress's  generosities. 

Two  account  books  were  ready  at  hand.  One  for 
the  distribution  of  legacies,  and  the  other  for  "in- 
vestments." Both  presented  an  inextricable  tangle 
of  figures  scratched  out,  rewritten,  and  then  again 
scratched  out  for  fresh  modifications. 

"Yesterday,"  said  Rosalie,  "we  gave  100,000 
francs  to  the  hospital  at  La  Roche-sur-Yon.  That 
is  a  great  deal." 

"Not    enough,    Miss,"    took   up    Victorine.     "I 


AUNT  ROSALIE'S  INHERITANCE       53 

meant  to  speak  of  it;  100,000  for  the  sick!  What 
can  they  do  with  that?" 

"Perhaps  you  are  right.     Let  us  say  150,000." 

"No,  Miss,  200,000." 

"Very  well,  say  200,000.  I  do  not  wish  to  distress 
you  for  so  little." 

"And  the  Church?" 

"Ah,  yes,  the  Church " 

"You  cannot  refuse  to  give  God  His  share,  Miss, 
after  He  has  given  you  so  much ! " 

"Quite  true.  Next  week  I  shall  add  something  in 
my  will." 

And  for  an  hour  the  discussion  would  continue  in 
this  tone.  The  results  were  duly  consigned  to  the 
secret  account  book,  and  then  would  follow  the 
question  of  investments. 

"Monsieur  Loiseau  tells  me  that  the  Western 
Railway  shares  have  dropped.  He  advises  me  to 
buy  Northern.  He  says  that  Northern  means 
Rothschild,  which  means  a  good  deal,  you  under- 
stand, Victorine." 

"That  Monsieur  Loiseau  knows  everything!  You 
must  do  as  he  says.  Me,  I  don't  know  anything 
about  such  things." 

"Well,  then,  put  down  Northern  instead  of  Western 
shares.  As  for  the  dividends,  they  talk  of  changing 
the  rate  of  interest." 

"What  does  that  mean?" 

"It  is  just  a  way  of  making  us  lose  money." 


54  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

"What  then?" 

"  Well,  then,  we  may  have  to  get  rid  of  our  stock.  I 
will  talk  it  over  with  Monsieur  Loiseau  to-morrow, 
and  perhaps  also  with  the  good  curi  who  is  very  well 
informed  in  these  matters.  Make  a  cross  before 
those  shares,  so  that  I  may  not  forget." 

And  Aunt  Rosalie  actually  did  ply  notary  and 
cure  with  questions  about  her  investments,  and  the 
use  to  be  made  of  her  fortune  after  her  death. 

These  two  had  acquired  a  liking  for  the  topic.  On 
the  day  when  Aunt  Rosalie,  questioned  by  him  with 
regard  to  her  direct  heirs,  declared  that  as  she  had 
seen  none  of  the  Bretauds  for  more  than  forty  years 
she  "had  decided  not  to  leave  any  of  them  a  penny's 
worth  of  her  property,"  the  curS  began  pleading  for 
the  Church,  for  the  Pope,  and  for  his  charities.  His 
efforts  were  amply  rewarded,  for  Aunt  Rosalie, 
though  not  perhaps  satisfying  all  his  demands, 
generously  wrote  him  down  for  large  sums,  of  which 
she  handed  him  the  list,  with  great  mystery.  In 
return  for  which  she  received  the  confidential 
assurance  of  eternal  felicity,  although  she  never 
performed  any  of  her  religious  duties. 

The  notary,  scenting  something  of  this  in  the  air, 
before  long  insinuated  delicately  that  he  would  be 
glad  of  a  "remembrance"  from  his  old  friend.  How 
could  she  refuse,  when  his  suggestions  in  the  matter 
of  investments  were  so  valuable? 

"Give  me  good  information  and  advice,  Monsieur 


AUNT  ROSALIE'S  INHERITANCE       55 

Loiseau,"  said  Aunt  Rosalie,  with  a  kind  smile. 
"You  shall  be  re  warded.  I  will  not  forget  you." 

And  from  time  to  time,  by  a  codicil,  of  which  he 
had  taught  her  the  form,  she  would  add  something  in 
her  will  to  the  sum  she  intended  for  the  good  notary. 
Whereupon  he  would  exert  himself  with  renewed 
diligence  in  her  garden,  which  he  jovially  called 
"hoeing  Aunt  Rosalie's  will." 

Such  things  could  not  be  kept  secret.  St.  Martin- 
en-Pareds  soon  knew  that  Aunt  Rosalie  had  great 
wealth,  which  they  surmised  had  come  to  her  through 
the  generosity  of  her  great  uncle  Bretaud.  Having 
quarrelled  with  her  "heirs,"  she  would  leave  every- 
thing to  her  "friends."  Who  could  withstand  such 
generous  affection  as  was  exhibited  toward  her? 
Following  the  example  of  the  notary,  all  St.  Martin 
had  by  the  claim  of  friendship  become  relatives. 
And  visits  were  paid  her,  and  good  wishes  expressed, 
accompanied  by  gifts  in  produce,  eggs,  fruits,  vege- 
tables, bacon,  or  chickens,  all  of  which  the  good 
"Aunt"  accepted  with  a  pretty  nodding  of  her  head, 
accompanied  by  an  "I  shall  not  forget  you!"  which 
everyone  stored  in  memory  as  something  very 
precious. 

Aunt  Rosalie  constantly  received,  and  never  gave. 
Even  the  poor  got  only  promises  for  the  future. 
Nothing  did  so  much  to  rivet  her  in  the  public  esteem. 
Her  reputation  for  blackest  avarice  was  the  surest 
guarantee  that  the  hoard  would  be  enormous. 


56  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

Things  had  gone  on  like  this  for  more  than  thirty 
years,  when  Aunt  Rosalie  was  carried  off  in  two  days 
by  an  inflammation  of  the  lungs.  Victorine,  in 
stupefaction,  watched  her  die,  thinking  of  the  in- 
heritance which  had  not  come,  but  which  could  not 
have  failed  to  come  eventually,  if  only  the  old  Aunt 
had  continued  to  live.  When  the  dead  woman  was 
cold,  Victorine,  who  was  alone  with  her  in  the  middle 
of  night,  ran  to  the  box  of  documents,  muttering  over 
and  over,  in  an  access  of  positive  madness:  "No  one 
will  get  anything,  no  one  will  get  anything!"  and 
threw  the  box  into  the  fire. 

As  she  stood  poking  the  bundle  to  make  it  kindle, 
a  flame  caught  her  petticoats.  The  wretched 
creature  was  burned  alive,  without  a  soul  to  bring  her 
help. 

Monsieur  Loiseau,  anxious  for  news,  arrived  on  the 
spot  at  dawn  and  discovered  the  horrible  sight.  The 
fire  had  crept  to  the  bed.  Sheets  of  charred  paper 
covered  with  figures  fluttering  about  the  room 
exposed  Victorine's  crime,  which  had  been  followed 
by  punishment  so  swift.  When  the  official  seals  had 
been  removed,  after  the  funeral,  no  trace  of  funds 
could  be  found,  nor  any  last  will  and  testament.  All 
the  notary's  searching  led  to  nothing. 

It  was  concluded  that  Victorine,  an  "agent  of  the 
Bretauds,"  had  made  everything  disappear.  Wrath 
ran  high.  There  rose  a  chorus  of  angry  wailing  and 
gnashing  of  teeth. 


AUNT  ROSALIE'S  INHERITANCE       57 

"Ah,  the  money  will  not  be  lost!"  people  said, 
heaping  maledictions  upon  the  "thief."  "The 
Bretauds  will  know,  well  enough,  where  to  look  for 
the  treasure!" 

"Poor  dear  Aunt!"  each  of  them  added,  mentally. 
"So  rich,  so  kindly  disposed  toward  us!  And  that 
beast  of  a  servant  had  to  go  and " 

As  a  sort  of  protest  against  the  Bretauds,  Aunt 
Rosalie  was  provided  by  subscription  with  a  beautiful 
white  marble  grave  stone,  while  the  charred  remains 
of  Victorine,  thrust  in  a  despised  corner  of  the 
cemetery,  were  consigned  to  public  contempt. 

Such  is  the  world's  justice. 


GIDEON  IN  HIS  GRAVE 


GIDEON  IN  HIS  GRAVE 

EVERYONE  connected  with  the  Cloth  Market 
of  Cracow  still  remembers  Gideon  the  Rich, 
son  of  Manasseh,  who  excelled  in  the  cloth 
trade  and  died  in  the  pathways  of  the  Lord.     Not 
only  for  his  prosperity  was  Gideon  notable.     He 
was  universally  regarded  as  "a  character,"  and  the 
man   truly   had   been   gifted    by   Heaven   with   a 
combination  of  qualities — whether  good  or  bad,  yet 
well  balanced — setting  him  apart  from  the  common 
herd. 

Gideon  was  a  thick,  rotund  little  Jew,  amiable  in 
appearance  to  the  point  of  joviality,  with  a  fresh 
pink  and  white  face  in  which  two  large  emotional 
blue  eyes,  always  looking  ready  to  brim  over,  bathed 
his  least  words,  whether  of  pity  or  business,  with 
generous  passions.  Being  an  orthodox  Jew,  he 
naturally  wore  a  long,  black  levitical  coat  which 
concealed  his  swinging  woollen  fringes.  Where  his 
abundant  gray  hair  met  with  his  silky  beard  (un- 
profaned  by  shears)  hung  the  two  long  pailles, 
cabalistic  locks  which  Jehovah  loves  to  see  brushing 
the  temples  of  the  faithful.  When  the  whole  was 

61 


62  THE  SURPRISES  OF,  LIFE 

topped  by  a  tall  hat,  impeccably  lustrous,  and  Gideon 
appeared  in  the  Soukinitza,  silence  spread,  as  all 
gazed  at  the  noble  great-coat  (of  silk  or  of  cloth, 
according  to  the  season)  whose  pockets  offered  a 
safe  asylum  to  the  mysteries  of  universal  trade. 

Never  suppose  that  such  authority  was  a  result  of 
chance  or  any  suddeH  bold  grasping  of  advantage. 
It  was  the  fruit  of  long  endeavour,  continually  fortu- 
nate because  he  never  embarked  on  an  enterprise  or  a 
combination  without  laborious  calculations,  in  which 
all  chances  favourable  or  adverse  had  been  duly 
weighed.  Manasseh  had  acquired  a  very  modest 
competence  in  the  old  clothes  business,  and  everyone 
knows  that  the  old  clothes  of  the  Polish  Jews  are 
young  when  the  rest  of  mankind  consider  them  past 
usefulness.  One  cannot  accumulate  any  great  for- 
tune in  this  business,  which  is  why  Gideon,  at 
Manasseh's  death,  sold  his  paternal  inheritance  and 
went  unostentatiously  to  occupy  the  meanest  booth 
in  the  Cloth  Market. 

At  first  no  one  took  any  notice  of  him.  The  shops 
in  that  market  are  little  more  than  wardrobes.  The 
doors  fold  back  and  become  show-cases.  The  pro- 
prietor sits  on  a  chair  in  the  middle,  and  the  passer 
will  hardly  get  by  without  being  deluged  with 
reasons  for  buying  exactly  the  entire  contents  of  the 
shelves.  Gideon,  at  the  front  of  his  black  cave, 
lighted  only  by  the  big,  hollow,  smouldering  eyes  of 
his  mother,  seated  motionless  for  hours  on  a  heap  of 


GIDEON  IN  HIS  GRAVE  63 

rags,  thought  himself  in  a  palace  fit  for  kings. 
Dazzled  but  calm,  he  skillfully  spread  his  striking 
wares  to  tempt  the  passer.  Others  ran  after  possible 
purchasers,  soliciting  them,  bothering  them.  The 
modest  display  which  depended  upon  nothing  but 
its  attractiveness  obtained  favour.  "It  may  be 
cheaper  in  there,"  people  said,  and  submitted  to 
persuasion.  It  was  the  beginning  of  a  great  destiny. 

Twenty  years  later  Gideon,  now  surnamed  "the 
Rich,"  had  a  wife  and  children,  whom  he  kept  busy 
under  the  noisy  arcade  brightened  by  the  rainbow 
colours  of  silks  for  sale.  He  had  clung  to  his  humble 
counter  and  was  never  willing  to  change  it  for  an- 
other. He  himself  was  seldom  found  there;  he  was 
elsewhere  occupied  with  large  transactions  planned  in 
the  silence  of  the  night.  Rachel  and  his  two  sons, 
Daniel  and  Nathan,  represented  him  at  the 
Soukinitza,  where  he  only  showed  himself  to  inquire 
concerning  orders.  There  he  would  chatter  for 
hours  with  the  peasants  on  market  days,  to  make  a 
difference  of  a  few  kreutzers  in  the  price  of  a  piece  of 
gossamer  silk.  No  profit  is  too  small  to  be  worth 
making.  This  is  the  principle  of  successful  firms. 
His  conduct  excited  the  admiration  of  all.  How, 
furthermore,  begrudge  to  Gideon  his  dues  in  honour, 
when  he  was  constantly  bestowing  hundreds  of 
florins  upon  schools,  synagogues,  and  everjr  sort  of 
charitable  institution? 

For  Gideon  had  a  dual  nature,  as,  brethren,  is  the 


64  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

case  with  many  of  us.  In  business  the  subtle  art  of 
his  absorbing  rapacity  circumvented  any  attempt  to 
lessen  his  profits  by  the  shaving  of  a  copper.  "It  is 
not  for  myself  that  I  work,"  he  used  to  say,  "it  is  for 
the  poor."  And  as  this  came  near  being  the  truth, 
people  were  afraid  of  appearing  heartless  if  they 
opposed  him.  They  let  themselves  be  caught- by  his 
smiling  good  humour,  his  friendly  familiar  talk,  and 
they  were,  after  all,  not  much  deceived  in  him,  for 
Gideon,  though  a  victor  in  life's  bitter  struggle,  was 
happiest  when  stretching  out  a  brotherly  hand  to  the 
vanquished.  In  the  same  way,  those  American 
billionaires  whose  immoderate  accumulations  of 
wealth  spread  ruin  all  around  them  will  anxiously 
question  the  first  comer  as  to  the  most  humanitarian 
way  of  spending  the  fortune  thus  acquired.  I  know 
of  someone  who  when  asked  by  that  foolish  ogre,  Car- 
negie, what  he  should  do  with  his  money,  answered: 
"Return  it  to  those  from  whom  you  took  it!" 

Gideon  could  hardly  have  looked  upon  the  matter 
in  that  light.  He  would  never  have  asked  advice  of 
any  one  in  reference  either  to  amassing  or  to  returning 
money.  His  chief  interest,  very  nearly  as  important 
as  his  business  schemes,  was  religion.  The  poetry  of 
Judaism  roused  in  him  an  ardour  that  nothing  could 
satisfy  but  the  feeling  of  substantially  contributing  to 
the  traditional  work  of  his  fathers.  His  charitable 
gifts  were  simply  a  result.  His  object  was  the  ful- 
filment of  "the  Law." 


GIDEON  IN  HIS  GRAVE  65 

Daniel  and  Nathan,  brought  up  in  the  same  ideas, 
lived  in  silent  respect  for  their  father's  authority. 
In  Israel,  ever  since  the  days  of  the  patriarchs,  the 
head  of  the  house  has  been,  as  with  all  Oriental 
peoples,  an  absolute  monarch.  The  sons  of  Gideon 
could  therefore  feel  no  regret  at  their  father's 
generosities.  Like  their  father,  they  placed  the 
service  of  Jehovah  above  everything  else.  Having, 
however,  been  reared  by  him,  and  taught  all  the 
combinations  of  exchange  by  which  you  get  as  much 
and  give  as  little  as  you  can,  they  were  conscious  of 
possessing  invincible  capacities  for  acquisition. 

"They  have  something  better  than  money," 
Gideon  would  say,  "they  know  how  to  make  it.*' 

On  one  point  alone  could,  possibly,  some  ferment 
of  dissension  in  the  family  have  been  found.  Gideon 
took  a  rich  man's  pride  hi  living  modestly.  He 
never  would  have  more  than  one  servant  in  the 
house.  The  young  men,  with  vanity  of  a  different 
kind,  would  have  delighted  in  dazzling  the  twelve 
tribes.  As  they  were  not  given  the  necessary  means, 
they  made  up  their  minds  to  migrate.  During  the 
long  evenings  of  a  whole  winter  nothing  else  was 
talked  of.  Gideon  did  not  begrudge  the  very 
considerable  outlay  involved,  knowing  that  <  it 
was  a  good  investment.  Only  one  consideration 
troubled  him  at  the  thought  of  launching  his  progeny 
"hi  the  cities  of  the  West."  Under  penalty  of 
closing  the  avenues  to  social  success,  they  would  be 


66  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

obliged  to  relinquish  the  orthodox  long  coat  and  clip 
off  the  two  corkscrew  locks  on  their  temples.  With- 
out attaching  too  much  importance  to  these  outward 
signs,  Gideon  grieved  over  what  seemed  to  him  a 
humiliating  concession. 

"Father,"  said  Daniel,  "in  Russia  the  orthodox 
Jews  are  obliged  to  cut  their  hair,  in  conformity  with 
an  edict  of  the  Czar.  But  even  without  pailles 
Jehovah  receives  them  in  his  bosom,  for  it  is  a  case  of 
superior  force.'* 

"Yes,  that  is  it,  superior  force,"  said  Gideon, 
nodding  assent.  "The  only  thing  that  troubles  me 
is  that  I  have  always  noticed  that  one  concession 
leads  to  another.  Where  shall  you  stop?  One  of 
these  days  you  may  think  it  necessary  to  your  social 
success  to  become  Christians!" 

"That!  .  .  .  Never!"  cried  Daniel  and 
Nathan  in  one  voice,  horror-stricken. 

"I  know,  I  know  that  you  have  no  such  intention. 
Like  me,  you  are  penetrated  by  the  greatness  of  our 
race,  and  like  me  you  stand  in  admiration  before  the 
miracles  of  destiny.  By  their  holy  books  the  Jews 
have  conquered  the  West.  Upon  our  thought  the 
thought  of  our  rulers  has  been  modelled.  That,  you 
must  know,  is  the  fundamental  reason  for  their 
reviling  us;  they  are  aware  of  having  nothing  but 
brutal  force  to  help  them,  and  of  living  upon  our 
genius.  Though  vanquished,  we  are  their  masters. 
Even  in  their  heresy,  which  is  a  Jewish  heresy,  they 


GIDEON  IN  HIS  GRAVE  67 

proclaim  the  superiority  of  the  children  of  Jehovah. 
When  their  God  was  incarnate  in  man,  his  choice  fell 
upon  a  Jewish  woman.  He  was  born  a  Jew.  He 
promised  the  fulfilment  of  the  Law.  His  apostles 
were  Jews.  Go  into  their  temples.  You  will  see 
nothing  but  statues  of  Jews  which  they  worship  on 
their  knees.  How  sad  a  thing  it  is,  when  signs  of  our 
grace  are  so  striking  on  all  sides,  to  see  the  wealthiest 
among  us  seeking  alliances  with  the  barbarous  aristoc- 
racy who  subjugated  us.  Some  of  them,  while  remain- 
ing Jews,  make  donations  to  the  church  of  Christ,  so 
as  to  win  the  favour  of  nations  and  kings.  Others 
submit  to  the  disgrace  of  baptism.  Should  you, 
Daniel,  or  you,  Nathan,  commit  such  a  crime,  I 
should  curse  you,  if  living;  if  dead,  I  should  turn  in 
my  grave." 

Terrified  by  this  portentous  threat,  Daniel  and 
Nathan,  rising  with  a  common  impulse,  swore,  calling 
upon  the  Lord,  to  live  as  good  Jews,  like  their 
forefathers. 

"That  is  well  done,"  said  Gideon.  "I  accept  your 
oath.  Remember  that  if  you  break  it,  I  shall  turn  in 
my  grave." 

Nathan  and  Daniel  acquired  great  wealth  by 
every  means  that  the  law  tolerates.  Gideon  was 
gathered  to  his  fathers.  In  accordance  with  his  will, 
the  greater  part  of  his  fortune  was  distributed  in 
charities.  A  considerable  sum,  however,  fell  to  each 
of  his  sons,  accompanied  by  a  letter  in  which  affection 


68  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

had  dictated  final  injunctions.  The  last  word  was 
still :  "If  ever  one  of  you  should  become  a  Christian, 
— forswear  the  pure  faith  of  Abraham  for  Christian 
idolatry,  I  should  turn  in  my  grave." 

Time  passed.  Daniel  and  Nathan,  loaded  with 
riches,  had  friends  in  society,  at  court,  and  most 
especially  among  those  great  lords  who  in  the  midst 
of  their  reckless  magnificence  may  sometimes  be 
accommodated  by  a  pecuniary  service.  Daniel  wished 
to  marry.  The  daughter  of  an  impoverished  prince 
was  opportunely  at  hand.  But  his  conversion  was 
required.  The  Vatican  conferred  a  title  upon  him. 
From  the  class  of  mere  manipulators  of  money,  the 
son  of  the  Cloth  Market  was  raised  to  the  higher 
sphere  of  world  politics.  Daniel  did  not  hesitate. 
His  absent  brother  coming  home  found  him  turned 
into  a  Christian  count. 

No  violent  scene  ensued  between  the  two  sons  of 
Gideon.  Nathan  understood  perfectly.  One  thought, 
however,  tormented  him. 

"I  agree  with  you,"  he  said,  "that  the  Christians  are 
but  a  sect  of  Israel,  that  they  are  sons  of  the 
synagogue,  and  that  you  remain  loyal  in  spirit  to  our 
faith,  though  overlaid  by  debatable  additions.  The 
fact  none  the  less  remains  that  we  had  given  our  oath 
to  our  father.  .  .  .  He  foresaw  only  too  well  the 
thing  that  has  occurred.  And  you  know  what  he 
said :  *  I  shall  turn  in  my  grave. ' " 

"One  says  that  sort  of  thing " 


GIDEON  IN  HIS  GRAVE  69 

"Gideon,  son  of  Manasseh,  was  not  the  man  to 
speak  idle  words.  Think  of  it,  Daniel,  if  we  were  to 
lift  the  grave  stone  and  our  eyes  were  to  behold " 

"Nathan,  say  no  more,  I  beg  of  you.  The  mere 
thought  turns  me  cold  with  fear." 

The  two  brothers,  formerly  indissolubly  united, 
drew  away  from  each  other  little  by  little:  Daniel, 
forgetful,  cheerfully  disposed,  a  nobleman  not  al- 
together free  from  arrogance,  amiably  deceived  by 
his  Christian  spouse,  but  with  or  without  this 
assistance  becoming  the  founder  of  a  great  family; 
Nathan,  morose,  restless,  smoulderingly  envious  of  a 
happiness  paid  too  high  for,  in  his  opinion.  When  a 
question  of  interest  brought  them  together  for  a  day, 
Nathan  always  ended  by  returning  to  his  theme: 

"Our  father  said:     'I  shall  turn  in  my  grave!" 

Whereupon  Daniel,  finding  nothing  to  reply,  cut 
short  the  interview. 

Then,  suddenly,  Nathan  dropped  sadness  for 
mirth,  severity  for  indulgence,  stopped  sermonizing 
and  smiled  instead  at  other  people's  faults.  The 
change  struck  Daniel  the  more  from  twice  meeting 
his  brother  without  a  word  being  spoken  about  their 
father  and  his  terrible  threat.  Finally  he  found  the 
key  to  the  mystery:  Nathan  had  in  his  turn  re- 
ceived baptism  and  was  about  to  become  the  happy 
bridegroom  of  a  widow  without  fortune  whom  an  act 
of  the  royal  sovereign  authorized  to  bestow  upon  her 
consort  a  feudal  title  threatened  with  falling  to 


70  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

female  succession.  In  gratitude,  Nathan  had 
promised  that  Daniel  and  he  would  "supervise"  a 
future  loan. 

"So!"  cried  Daniel  in  anger,  when  he  heard  the 
great  news.  "You  are  becoming  a  Christian,  too, 
after  viciously  tormenting  me  on  every  occasion,  and 
reminding  me  of  our  father  who  on  my  account  had 
'turned  in  his  grave.'  And  I  was  filled  with 
remorse.  Yes,  I  may  have  seemed  happy,  but  my 
sleep  was  troubled.  I  did  not  know  what  to  do. 
There  were  times  when  I  even  contemplated  return- 
ing to  the  synagogue.  Well,  then,  if  what  you  tell 
me  is  true,  if  our  father  actually  has  turned  in  his 
grave,  you  will  admit  that  you  are  now  to  blame  as 
well  as  I.  Come,  speak,  what  have  you  to  say?" 

"I  say,"  replied  Nathan,  undisturbed,  "that  I  have 
shown  myself  in  this  the  more  devoted  son  of  the 
two.  I  take  back  nothing  of  what  I  said.  It  is  you 
assuredly  who  caused  Gideon,  son  of  Manasseh,  to 
turn  in  his  grave.  About  that  there  is  no  doubt 
whatever.  But  thanks  to  the  act  to  which  I  have 
resigned  myself,  he  has  undoubtedly  turned  back 
again,  according  to  his  solemn  promise,  and  there  he 
lies  henceforth  just  as  we  buried  him,  and  as  he  must 
remain  forever.  I  have  retrieved  your  fault.  Our 
father  forgives  you.  I  accept  your  thanks." 


SIMON,  SON  OF  SIMON 


VI 

SIMON,  SON  OF  SIMON 

SIMON,  son  of  Simon,  was  nearing  the  end  of 
his  career  without  having  tasted  the  fruits 
of  his  untiring  effort  to  acquire  the  riches 
which  may  be  said  to  represent  happiness.  Whether 
we  be  the  sons  of  Shem  or  of  Japheth,  each  of  us 
strives  for  the  representative  symbol  of  the  satisfac- 
tion of  his  particular  cravings.  Not  that  Simon,  son 
of  Simon,  of  the  tribe  of  Judah,  had  ever  given  much 
thought  to  the  joys  that  were  to  come  from  his 
possession  of  treasure.  No,  the  question  of  the 
possible  use  to  be  made  of  a  pile  of  money  had  never 
occupied  his  active  but  simple  mind.  The  satisfac- 
tion of  money -lust  having  been  his  single  aim,  he  had 
never  looked  forward  to  any  enjoyment  other  than 
that  of  successful  money  getting.  Fine  raiment 
appealed  to  him  not  at  all.  The  safest  thing,  after 
snaring  wealth  on  the  wing,  is  to  conceal  it  under 
poverty,  lest  we  lead  into  temptation  the  wicked, 
ever  ready  to  appropriate  the  goods  of  their  neigh- 
bours. Jewels,  rare  gems,  precious  vessels,  delicate 
porcelain,  rugs,  tapestries,  luxurious  dwellings,  horses, 
none  of  these  awakened  his  desire.  He  cared  nothing 

73 


74  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

for  them,  and  had  no  understanding  of  the  vain- 
glorious joys  to  be  derived  from  their  possession. 
Neither  did  he  yearn  for  fair  persons — sometimes 
containing  a  soul — obtainable  at  a  price  for  in- 
effable delight.  Simon,  son  of  Simon,  had  a  very 
vague  notion  of  the  esthetic  superiority  of  one 
daughter  of  Eve  above  another,  and  would  not  have 
given  a  farthing  for  the  difference  between  any  two 
of  them. 

His  ingenuous  desire  was  concerned  solely  with 
coined  metal.  Gold,  silver,  bronze,  cut  into  disks 
and  stamped  with  an  effigy,  seemed  to  him,  as  in 
fact  they  are,  the  greatest  marvel  of  the  world.  The 
thought  of  collecting  them,  carefully  counted  in 
bags — making  high  brown,  white,  or  yellow  piles  of 
them  in  coffers  with  intricate  locks — filled  him  with 
superhuman  joy.  And  so  great  is  the  miracle  of 
metal,  even  when  absent  and  represented  only  by  a 
sheet  of  paper  supplied  with  the  necessary  formulae 
and  bearing  imposing  signatures  along  with  the 
stamp  of  Caesar,  that  the  delight  of  it  in  that  form  was 
no  less.  Some,  with  a  cultivated  taste  in  such 
matters,  tell  us  indeed  that  the  delight  is  enhanced 
by  the  thought  of  safeguarding  from  the  world's 
cupidity  so  great  a  treasure  in  a  bulk  so  small. 

All  of  this,  however,  Simon,  son  of  Simon,  had 
tasted  only  hi  dream  visions,  finding  it  infinitely 
delectable  even  so.  How  would  he  have  felt,  had 
reality  kept  pace  with  the  flight  of  a  delirious 


SIMON,  SON  OF  SIMON  75 

imagination?  But  such  happiness  seemed  not  to  be 
the  portion  of  the  miserable  Jew,  who  had  so  far 
vainly  exerted  himself  to  win  gold.  Gold  for  the 
sake  of  gold,  not  for  the  vain  pleasures,  the  empty 
shells,  for  which  fools  give  it  in  exchange.  Gold  was 
beautiful,  gold  was  mighty,  gold  was  sovereign  of  the 
world.  If  Simon,  son  of  Simon,  had  attempted  to 
picture  Jehovah,  he  would  have  conceived  of  him  as 
gold  stretching  out  to  infinity,  filling  all  space! 
Meanwhile,  he  trailed  shocking  old  slippers  through 
the  mud  of  his  Galician  village,  and  arrayed  himself 
In  a  greasy,  ragged  garment  on  which  the  far-spaced 
clean  places  stood  out  like  spots.  He  was  a  poor 
man,  you  would  have  thought  him  an  afflicted  one, 
but  the  golden  rays  of  an  indefatigable  hope  lighted 
his  life. 

He  walked  by  the  guidance  of  a  star,  the  golden 
star  of  a  dream  which  would  end  only  with  the 
dreamer.  He  was  always  busy.  Always  on  the  eve 
of  some  lucky  stroke.  Never  on  the  day  after  it. 
The  things  he  had  attempted,  the  combinations  he 
had  constructed,  the  traps  he  had  set  for  human 
folly,  would  worthily  fill  a  volume.  It  seemed  as  if 
his  genius  lacked  nothing  necessary  for  success.  Yet 
he  always  failed,  and  had  acquired  a  reputation  for 
bad  luck.  He  had  travelled  much;  taken  part  in 
large  enterprises,  to  which  he  contributed  ideas  that 
proved  profitable  to  someone  else.  He  could  buy 
and  sell  on  the  largest  or  the  smallest  scale.  He 


76  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

dealt  in  every  ware  that  is  sold  in  the  open  market  as 
well  as  every  one  that  is  bargained  for  in  secret, 
from  honours — and  honour — to  living  flesh,  from 
glory  to  love.  And  now,  here  he  was,  stripped  of 
illusions — I  mean  illusions  on  the  subject  of  his 
fellowman — dreaming  for  the  thousandth  time  of 
holding  a  winning  hand  in  the  game. 

The  sole  confidant  of  his  dreams  was  his  son 
Ochosias,  a  youth  of  great  promise,  initiated  by  him 
into  all  the  mysteries  of  commerce.  Ochosias 
profited  by  his  lessons  and  was  not  lacking  in  gifts, 
but  never  rose  to  his  father's  sublime  heights.  He 
had  a  preference  for  the  money  trade. 

"Money,"  said  he,  "is  the  finest  merchandise  of 
all.  Purchase,  sale,  loan,  are  all  profitable  for  one 
knowing  how  to  handle  it.  If  you  will  give  your 
consent,  father,  I  will  establish  myself  as  a  banker — 
by  the  week." 

"You  are  crazy,"  answered  Simon,  son  of  Simon. 
"The  money  trade  certainly  has  advantages  per- 
ceptible even  to  the  dullest  wit.  But  in  order  to 
deal  with  capital,  capital  you  must  have,  or  else  find 
some  innocent  Gentile  to  lend  it  you  at  an  easy  rate. 
Before  doing  this,  however,  he  will  ask  for  securities. 
Where  are  your  securities?" 

And  as  the  other  shrugged  his  shoulders — 

"Listen,"  continued  the  man  of  experience,  "the 
time  has  come  to  submit  to  you  a  plan  that  has  been 
haunting  me  and  from  which  I  expect  a  rare  profit." 


SIMON,  SON  OF  SIMON  77 

"Speak,  speak,  father,"  cried  Ochosias,  eagerly, 
with  such  a  racial  quiver  at  the  words  "rare  profit" 
as  a  war-horse's  at  a  bugle  call. 

"Listen,"  said  Simon  with  deliberation,  "I  have 
long  revolved  in  my  mind  the  history  of  my  life.  I 
can  say  without  vanity  that  nowhere  is  Simon,  son 
of  Simon,  surpassed  in  business  ability.  Should 
you,  Ochosias,  live  to  be  the  age  of  the  patriarchs,  you 
might  meet  with  one  more  fortunate  than  your 
father,  but  one  more  expert  in  trade — never.  And 
yet  I  have  not  been  successful  .  *  .at  least, 
not  up  to  the  present  time.  For  the  future  is  in  the 
hands  of  Jehovah  alone  by  whom  all  things  are 
decided." 

The  two  men  bowed  devoutly  in  token  of  sub- 
mission to  the  Lord. 

"What, then, has  been  wanting? "continued  Simon, 
son  of  Simon,  following  up  his  thought.  "Nothing 
within  myself,  I  say  it  without  any  uncertainty  as 
to  my  pride  being  justifiable.  Nothing  within 
myself,  everything  outside  of  myself.  It  is  no 
secret.  Everyone  proclaims  it  aloud.  Ask  anybody 
you  please.  Everyone  will  tell  you:  'Simon,  son 
of  Simon,  is  no  ordinary  Jew.'  Some  will  even 
add:  'He  is  the  greatest  Jew  of  his  time.'  I  do 
not  go  as  far  as  that.  We  must  always  leave  room 
for  another.  But  you  will  find  opinion  unanimous  in 
respect  to  one  curious  statement:  'Simon,  son  of 
Simon,  has  no  luck.  All  that  he  has  lacked  is 


78  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

luck.'  There  you  have  the  simple  truth.  There  is 
nothing  further  to  say." 

"Well ?" inquired  Ochosias,  breathlessly,  scent- 
ing something  new  in  the  air. 

"Well,  one  must  have  luck,  that  is  the  secret,  and, 
I  tell  you  plainly,  I  mean  to  have  it." 

"How?" 

"It  is  within  reach  of  all,  my  child.  You  cannot 
fail  to  see  it.  A  state  institution,  through  the  care 
of  the  Emperor  Francis  Joseph,  Christian  of  Christ, 
distributes  good  luck  impartially  to  every  subject  of 
the  Empire,  whether  Christian,  Jew,  or  Mahomedan." 

"The  lottery?"  asked  Ochosias,  and  pouted  his 
lips  disdainfully. 

"The  lottery,  you  have  said  it,  the  lottery  which 
graciously  offers  us  every  day  a  chance  of  which  we 
neglect  to  avail  ourselves." 

"Unless,  of  course,"  mused  the  youth,  with  a 
brightening  countenance,  "you  know  of  some  way  to 
draw  the  winning  number " 

"Good.  I  was  sure  that  blood  would  presently 
speak.  You  are  not  far  from  guessing  right." 

"But,  come  now.  Seriously.  You  know  of  some 
such  means?" 

"Perhaps.     Tell  me,  who  is  the  master  of  luck?" 

"Jehovah.     You  yourself  just  said  so." 

"Yes,  Jehovah,  or  some  god  of  the  outsiders,  if  any 
there  be  mightier  than  Jehovah,  which  I  cannot 
believe." 


SIMON,  SON  OF  SIMON  79 

"Other  gods  may  be  mighty,  like  Baal,  or  like 
Mammon,  who  ought  by  no  means  to  be  despised. 
But  Jehovah  is  the  greatest  of  all.  He  said:  'I  am 
the  Eternal.'  And  He  is." 

"Doubtless.  There  are,  however,  more  mysteries 
in  this  world  than  we  can  grasp,  and  Jehovah  permits 
strange  usurpations  by  other  Celestial  Powers." 

"It  is  for  the  purpose  of  trying  us." 

"I  believe  it  to  be  so.  But  I  have  no  more  time  to 
waste  in  mistakes.  And  so  I  have  said  to  myself: 
'Adonai,  the  Master,  holds  luck  in  his  hands. 
According  to  my  belief,  that  master  is  Jehovah.  He 
just  might,  however,  be  Christ,  or  Allah,  or  another. 
I  shall,  if  necessary,  exhaust  the  dictionary  of  the 
Gods  of  mankind,  which  is,  I  am  told,  a  bulky 
volume.  Whoever  is  the  mightiest  God,  him  must 
we  tempt,  seduce,  or,  to  speak  plainly,  buy.'  That  is 
what  I  have  resolved  to  do.  I  shall  naturally  begin 
the  experiment  with  Jehovah,  the  God  of  Abraham 
and  of  Solomon,  whom  I  worship  above  all  others. 
To-morrow  is  the  Sabbath.  To-day  I  will  go  and 
purchase  a  ticket  for  the  imperial  lottery,  the  grand 
prize  of  which  is  five  hundred  thousand  florins,  and 
to-morrow,  bowed  beneath  the  veil,  in  the  temple  of 
the  Lord,  I  shall  promise  to  give  him,  if  I 
win " 

"Ten  thousand  florins!"  Ochosias  bravely  pro- 
posed. 

"Ten  thousand  grains  of  sand!"  cried  Simon,  son 


80  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

of  Simon.  "Would  you  be  stingy  toward  your 
Creator?  Ten  thousand  florins !  Do  you  think  that 
in  the  world  we  live  in  one  can  subsidize  a  Divinity, 
a  first-class  one,  for  that  price?  Triple  donkey! 
Know  that  I  shall  offer  Jehovah  one  hundred  thou- 
sand florins !  One  hundred  thousand  florins !  What 
do  you  think  of  it?  That  is  how  one  behaves  when 
he  is  moved  by  religious  sentiments." 

The  amazed  Ochosias  was  silent.  After  a  pause, 
however,  he  murmured: 

"You  are  right,  father,  in  these  days  one  cannot 
get  a  God,  a  real  one,  under  that  figure.  But  a 
hundred  thousand  florins!  You  must  own  that  it  is 
frightful  to  hand  over  such  a  pile  of  money  even  to 
Jehovah." 

"Ochosias,  in  business  one  must  know  how  to  be 
lavish.  With  your  ten  thousand  florins  I  should 
never  win  the  grand  prize.  Whilst  with  my  hundred 
thousand We  shall  see." 

And  Simon,  son  of  Simon,  did  as  he  had  said.  He 
bought  his  lottery  ticket,  he  took  a  solemn  oath  be- 
fore the  Thorah  to  devote,  should  he  win,  a  hundred 
thousand  florins  to  Jehovah,  and  then  he  waited 
quietly  for  three  months,  to  learn  that  his  was  not  the 
winning  number. 

Ochosias  and  Simon,  son  of  Simon,  thereupon 
deliberated.  To  which  God  should  they  next  turn 
their  attention?  For  some  reason  Jehovah  had  lost 
power.  Was  it  possible  that  the  centuries  had 


SIMON,  SON  OF  SIMON  81 

strengthened  some  other  God  against  him?  Strange 
things  happen.  Still,  Ochosias  ventured  the  sugges- 
tion that  Jehovah  with  the  best  will  in  the  world 
might  have  been  bound  by  some  previous  engage- 
ment. 

"Any  other  Jew  to  have  promised  a  hundred 
thousand  florins  to  the  Eternal?"  uttered  Simon,  son 
of  Simon,  sententiously.  "No!  I  am  the  only  one 
capable  of  a  stroke  of  business  such  as  that!" 

But  upon  the  insistence  of  Ochosias,  whose  faith  in 
Jehovah  remained,  unshaken,  he  was  willing  to  try 
again.  This  time  he  waited  six  months  .  .  . 
with  the  same  result. 

It  then  became  necessary  to  make  a  decision,  and 
the  two  men  agreed  that  after  Jehovah  the  honour  of 
the  next  trial  was  due  to  his  son  Jesus,  a  Jew,  off- 
spring of  the  Jew  Joseph  and  the  Jewess  Mary.  So 
Simon,  son  of  Simon,  bought  another  lottery  ticket 
and  hastened  to  the  church  of  Christ  where,  having 
been  properly  sprinkled  with  holy  water,  he  knelt 
according  to  the  custom  of  the  place,  and  pledged 
himself  solemnly,  in  case  he  won  the  grand  prize,  to 
present  the  Crucified  with  a  hundred  thousand 
florins.  Having  given  his  word,  Simon,  son  of 
Simon,  looked  all  around  him  in  the  hope  of  some 
sign,  but  seeing  nothing  that  could  concern  him  he 
retired,  not  without  repeating  his  promise  and 
gratifying  the  Deity  with  a  few  supplementary 
genuflexions. 


82  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

Time  passed.  Simon,  son  of  Simon,  and  Ochosias 
went  about  their  ordinary  occupations,  taking  great 
care  to  utter  no  word  that  could  give  offence  to  the 
Power  whose  favour  they  were  seeking.  Jehovah  re- 
mained during  this  long  period  exiled,  as  it  were,  from 
then-  thoughts .  What  if  the  Other  should  be  j  ealous  ? 

And  then,  of  a  sudden,  the  miracle !  Simon,  son  of 
Simon,  won  the  grand  prize.  At  first  he  doubted, 
fearing  some  trick  of  the  invisible  powers.  But  in 
the  end  he  was  obliged  to  accept  the  evidence.  The 
Most  Catholic  bank  paid  the  money,  and  soon  the 
five  hundred  thousand  florins  were  safely  bestowed. 

After  a  few  twitches  of  nervous  trembling,  Simon, 
son  of  Simon,  regained  command  over  himself.  But 
he  was  visibly  sunk  in  deep  thought.  Vainly  the 
agitated  Ochosias  plied  him  with  questions.  Such 
answers  as  he  obtained  were  vague  and  unsatis- 
factory. "Oh,"  and  "Ah,"  and  "Perhaps*"  and 
"We  shall  see,"  which  in  no  wise  revealed  what  lay  in 
the  other's  mind.  Finally,  Ochosias  could  no  longer 
restrain  himself.  He  must  know  what  was  going  on 
in  his  father's  soul,  for  his  own  was  torn  by  a  dreadful 
doubt.  The  genius  of  Simon,  son  of  Simon,  was 
marvellous,  it  had  opened  the  way  for  him  to  re- 
calcitrant fortune,  and  in  the  natural  course  of  things 
he,  Ochosias,  would  presently  through  death's 
agency  be  placed  in  possession  of  the  treasure.  But 
here  was  a  difficulty.  Could  one  grant  that  Jehovah 
had  no  power  left  and  that  Christ  was  all-powerful? 


SIMON,  SON  OF  SIMON  83 

Ochosias  shuddered  at  the  thought,  for,  after  all,  if 
Christ  had  greater  power  than  the  One  who  was 
formerly  all-powerful,  if  supreme  power  had  devolved 
upon  Christ,  then  to  Christ  must  one  bow.  Con- 
version would  be  inevitable.  To  leave  the  temple  of 
Jehovah  for  the  altars  of  his  enemy  and  pay,  into  the 
bargain,  an  enormous  fee?  Horrible! 

In  hesitating  and  fragmentary  talk  Ochosias  made 
the  sorrowful  avowal  of  his  anguish. 

"Must  we  believe  that  Jesus  is  mightier  than 
Jehovah?  What  consequences  would  such  a  belief 
involve!  Is  it  possible  that  the  religion  of  Jesus  is 
the  true  one?  No,  no,  it  cannot  be!  What  are  your 
thoughts  on  the  subject,  father?" 

"Man  of  little  faith,  who  hast  doubted,"  spoke 
Simon,  son  of  Simon,  softly,  with  a  flash  as  of  light- 
ning in  his  eye.  "Let  me  reassure  thee  who  have 
not  doubted.  Clearly  I  perceive  the  true  signi- 
ficance of  events.  Jehovah  is  not  one  whom  we 
can  deceive,  even  unintentionally.  To  Him  all 
things  are  known.  He  foresees  all,  and  works 
accordingly.  The  proof  that  He  is  mightier  than 
Jesus  is  that  He  perfectly  understood  on  both  oc- 
casions that  I  should  never  be  able  to  part  with  the 
hundred  thousand  florins  I  so  rashly  promised.  He 
knows  our  hearts.  He  does  not  expect  the  im- 
possible. The  Other  was  taken  in  by  my  good  faith, 
which  deceived  even  myself.  Jehovah  alone  is 
great,  my  son." 


84  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

"Jehovah  alone  is  great,'*  repeated  Ochosias,  his 
soul  divinely  eased  by  the  lifting  off  it  of  a  great 
weight. 

And  both  men,  with  foreheads  bowed  before  the 
Almighty,  worshipped. 


AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  CROSS 


VII 
AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  CROSS 

BURIED  in  silence,  the  city  slept  under  the 
friendly  moon.  With  the  setting  of  the  sun, 
activities  had  slowed,  then  halted  in  tem- 
porary death,  and  over  the  noisy  pavements  had 
fallen  the  peace  of  the  grave.  Divine  sleep  by  obli- 
vion shielded  the  children  of  men  from  evil  and  by 
dreams  comforted  them  with  hope.  Some  of  the 
windows,  however,  were  kept  alight  by  love,  or 
suffering,  or  labour.  The  hushed  street,  touched 
with  bluish  light,  emerged  from  shadow  here  and 
there,  and  as  abruptly  dropped  into  it  again.  Where 
three  converging  roads  ended  in  a  public  square,  the 
water  of  fountains  murmured  around  the  great  stone 
base  of  a  bloodstained  crucifix. 

The  street  of  the  people,  "everybody's  street,"  as  it 
was  also  called,  was  recognizable  by  its  neglect  of  the 
customary  city  ordinances.  A  narrow  track  of 
aggressive  cobblestones,  amid  which  the  sewage 
trailed  its  odours,  wound  between  high,  mouldy  walls, 
and  led  from  their  dens  to  the  foot  of  the  Divine 
Image  the  sad,  long  procession  of  those  who  are  not 
of  the  elect.  The  citizen's  road,  "  the  middle  road,"  as 

.  87 


88  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

some  called  it,  offered  greater  convenience  to  its 
travellers.  Wide,  airy,  drained  according  to  the 
latest  hygienic  system,  salubriously  paved  with  wood, 
bordered  by  sumptuous  shops  where  all  the  pleasant 
things  of  life  were  on  sale,  this  road  invited  idleness  to 
leisurely  promenades,  invariably  ending,  however, 
at  the  foot  of  the  cross.  For  greater  certainty,  a 
moving  platform  took  people  thither,  saving  them 
the  trouble  of  exerting  themselves.  As  to  the  way  of 
the  elect,  likewise  called  "the  way  of  the  few,"  it 
stretched  along  triumphantly,  indescribable  in  splen- 
dour, amid  monuments  of  art,  statues,  marvellous 
trees,  blossoming  bowers,  fragrant  lawns,  singing 
birds,  all  that  the  utmost  refinement  of  luxury  could 
devise  for  human  felicity.  There  were  even,  at 
stated  hours,  fan*  traffickers  in  delight,  artfully 
adorned,  who  moved  about  in  accordance  with  a 
prescribed  order,  selling  heaven  on  earth  to  whomso- 
ever had  the  price  to  pay.  In  commodious  coaches 
drawn  by  six  gold-caparisoned  horses  these  repaired 
like  the  rest  to  the  crossroads  where  in  His  patient 
anguish  the  God  awaited  them.  Motionless,  from 
the  height  of  His  gibbet,  He  gazed  down  upon  it  all 
with  ineffable  sadness,  as  if  He  said:  "Is  this  what 
I  laboured  for?" 

And  now,  on  the  three  avenues  which  even  during 
the  hours  of  sleep  preserve  their  characteristics, 
shadows  are  seen  moving.  Their  outlines  increase  in 
distinctness,  and  one  after  the  other  three  human 


AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  CROSS    89 

figures  issue  from  the  three  roads  into  the  flickering 
lamplight  of  the  square. 

The  man  from  "the  low  road,"  hugging  the  wall, 
advances  timidly,  with  hesitating  step,  yet  like  one 
driven  by  a  higher  power.  A  stranger  to  fear,  the 
man  of  "the  middle  road"  advances  with  tranquil 
eye,  securely  bold,  knowing  that  others  have  care  for 
his  safety.  Incessu  patuit  Homo.  The  man  from 
"the  road  of  the  few"  treads  the  earth  as  if  he  owned 
it,  and  seems  to  call  the  stars  to  witness  that  he  is  the 
supreme  justification  of  the  universe.  Each  with  his 
different  gait,  they  proceed  toward  their  goal,  which 
fate  has  made  identical.  At  the  foot  of  the  cross, 
whose  massive  base  had  until  that  moment  concealed 
them  from  one  another,  they  suddenly  come  face  to 
face,  under  the  gaze  of  Him  whom  their  ancestors 
nailed  to  the  ignominious  tree. 

Three  simultaneous  cries  cross  in  the  air. 

"Ephraim!" 

"Samuel!" 

"Mordecai!" 

"What  are  you  doing  here?" 

"And  you?" 

"And  you?" 

Silence  falls,  as  each  waits  for  an  answer. 

"Three  Jews  at  the  foot  of  the  cross!"  said 
Ephraim  of  the  low  road. 

"Three  renegade  Jews,"  said  Mordecai  of  the  tribe 
of  the  few,  below  breath.  "For  we  are  Christians." 


90  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

"Renegade  is  not  the  word,  brother,"  objected 
Samuel  of  the  middle  class,  softly.  "Apostasy  is  the 
name  for  those  who  go  over  to  the  beliefs  of  the 
minority .  The  others  are  converts . ' ' 

"Admirably  expressed,  Samuel,"  said  Ephraim. 
"You  are  a  wise  man.  Why  should  I  take  the 
trouble  to  lie  to  you?  I  have  come  here  alone,  by 
night,  because  having  changed  Lord,  I  need  com- 
pensating gifts,  and — God,  though  He  has  become 
Jesus,  son  of  Joseph,  cannot  hear  me  when  His 
crowd  of  courtiers  is  besieging  Him  with  clamorous 
petitions.  Therefore  I  come  sometimes  to  speak  to 
Him  as  man  to  God.  And  who  knows?  Perhaps  if  I 
help  myself  sufficiently  my  words  will  be  heard." 

"I  will  not  deny,"  said  Samuel,  "that  I  am  here 
with  the  same  object." 

"My  case  differs  in  nothing  from  yours,"  Mordecai 
readily  owned. 

"You,  then,  are  a  believer?"  asked  Ephraim,  as  if 
really  curious,  and  at  the  same  time  anxious  to 
avoid  facing  the  same  question. 

"I  must  be  ...  since  I  am  converted," 
answered  each  of  the  others. 

"Sensible  words,"  observed  Ephraim,  after  a 
thoughtful  pause.  "To  believe  is  to  observe  the 
forms  of  worship.  In  men's  eyes,  as  in  those  of  God 
himself,  the  ceremonies  of  the  cult  class  one  as  a 
believer,  and  society  first,  Heaven  later,  will  show 
approval  by  favours." 


AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  CROSS    91 

"As  far  as  men  are  concerned,  it  is  not  difficult  to 
satisfy  them,"  spoke  Mordecai.  "You  go  to  the 
temple  at  prescribed  times,  you  perform  the  rites 
scrupulously,  with  proper  manifestations  of  zeal. 
And  this,  I  dare  say,  is  equally  satisfactory  to  the 
God." 

"Certainly,"  said  Ephraim.  "But  He  is  Jesus, 
son  of  Joseph,  a  Jewish  God  still,  and  sent  by 
Jehovah,  as  is  proved  by  His  success.  He  must  be  a 
jealous  God.  Cleverness  is  necessary,  and  in  my 
conferences  with  Him,  when  we  are  alone " 

"That  is  it!  That  is  it!"  exclaimed  the  other 
two. 

"Brother,"  said  Samuel,  "what  was  it  that  led  to 
your — conversion?  " 

"It  came  about  very  naturally,"  replied  Ephraim, 
"the  reason  for  it  being  the  great,  the  only  motive  of 
men's  actions:  self-interest.  Self-interest,  which  it 
is  the  fashion  among  Christians  to  decry  in  words, 
while  adhering  to  it  strictly  in  action.  When  it 
became  plain  to  me  that  the  sons  of  Jehovah,  to 
whom  the  earth  was  promised,  were  not  masters 
of  the  earth,  the  holy  promises  notwithstanding, 
doubts  entered  my  mind,  which  were  only  augmented 
by  reflection.  If  Jehovah  does  not  keep  His  promises, 
thought  I,  what  right  has  He  to  the  fidelity  of 
those  whom  He  leaves  unrewarded?  Give  and 
receive  is  the  rule.  If  I  receive  nothing,  God  him- 
self has  no  claim  to  anything  from  me.  On  the 


92  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

other  hand,  I  observed  that  the  followers  of  Jesus 
possessed  the  earth,  conquered  treasures  which  they 
reserved  strictly  for  themselves,  being  forever 
anxious  to  proclaim  their  indifference  to  worldly 
goods  while  inordinately  preoccupied  with  collecting 
them.  Their  success  seemed  to  me  a  sign.  And 
when,  after  having  burned,  tortured,  and  in  a  thou- 
sand ways  persecuted  us  during  the  dark  ages,  I  saw 
them  inaugurating  the  reign  of  justice  and  liberty  by 
a  return  to  persecution,  I  saw  that  the  hour  had 
come.  I  could  not,  however,  decide  immediately.  A 
foolish  self-respect  held  me  back,  I  blush  to  own  it. 
But  then  the  head  of  the  commercial  house  in  which 
I  am  employed,  doing  justice  to  my  talents,  said  to 
me: 

"'What  a  pity  that  you  are  a  Jew,  Ephraim.  I 
would  gladly  turn  over  my  business  to  you,  but  all 
our  customers  would  forsake  us.' 

"'If  that  is  all  that  stands  in  the  way,  I  am  a 
Christian.' 

"'A  Christian?' 

"'Yes.' 

i  "And,  the  day  after,  I  was  a  Christian.  Six  months 
later  I  married  his  daughter.  My  signature  is 
honoured  at  the  bank  and  at  the  church.  I  am 
president  of  the  Anti-semitic  Committee  of  my 
district." 

"That  is  going  somewhat  far,"  remarked  Samuel. 

"Jews  who  remain  Jews  are  inexcusable!"  said 


AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  CROSS    93 

Ephraim,  in  irritation  against  his  people.  "What  is 
asked  of  them?  A  little  salt  water  on  their  heads. 
A  great  matter!  Is  there  any  question  of  denying 
Jehovah?  None,  for  it  is  our  God  whom,  by  our 
holy  book,  we  have  imposed  upon  the  Gallic  bar- 
barians. In  all  the  temples  it  is  Jehovah  they 
worship.  Why  should  we  refuse  to  enter?  Whose 
effigies  are  they,  if  you  please,  on  the  altars,  in  the 
niches?  Those  of  Jews.  All  Jews!  Peter,  the 
first  pope — nothing  less! — Paul,  Joseph,  Simon, 
Thomas,  all  the  apostles.  Even  to  the  Jewess  Mary 
and  her  mother  Anna,  who  are  regularly  worshipped 
and  who  obtain  favours  from  their  son  and  grandson, 
Jesus,  who  Himself  proclaimed  that  He  had  come  to 
fulfill  the  law  of  Moses.  Now  there  is  not  and  there 
cannot  be  any  other  law  than  to  vanquish  one's 
rivals,  and  the  victory  of  Christ  is  manifestly  the 
victory  of  Jehovah  himself.  Christianity  ,  is  the 
finest  flower  of  Israel.  It  is  the  most  flourishing 
among  the  Jewish  sects,  and  in  it  nothing  is  changed 
but  certain  words.  Shall  we  for  the  sake  of  a  word 
or  two  forego  that  which  makes  life  on  earth  beauti- 
ful? The  Jews  will  come  to  understand  this,  and  if 
they  delay  much  longer  the  anti-semites  will  make 
them  understand  it." 

The  other  two  were  silent  in  admiration. 

"I  suppose,  brother,"  said  Samuel  after  a  time  to 
Mordecai,  "that  your  story  is  practically  the  same." 

"Not  at  all,"   replied  Mordecai,   curtly.     "My 


94  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

case  is  wholly  different.  I  was  rich  from  birth. 
My  ancestors,  a  beggarly  lot,  I  admit,  had  by  filing 
away  at  Christian  corns  made  Jewish  ingots,  which 
I  found  in  my  inheritance,  and  was  able  to  increase 
considerably  by  analogous  methods.  Hence,  the 
idea  could  never  have  occurred  to  me  to  be — 
converted — for  the  sake  of  gain."  (This  shaft  was 
accompanied  by  a  sidelong  glance  at  Ephraim,  who 
did  not  flinch.)  "I  lived  in  peaceful  enjoyment  of 
the  things  money  can  give,  and  it  can  give  almost 
everytliing,  as  you  know.  Sovereigns  loved  me.  I 
entertained  them  in  my  various  dwellings.  They 
pushed  friendliness  to  the  point  of  borrowing  money 
from  me  which  they  forgot  to  return.  I  had  the 
friendship  besides  of  all  those  aristocracies  that  draw 
near  at  the  sound  of  clinking  coin,  as  serpents  do  at 
the  sound  of  the  charmer's  flute.  Good  priests  came 
to  my  antechamber  on  begging  missions  for  the 
restoration  or  completion  of  their  cathedrals." 

"I  fail  to  see  what  more  you  could  want,"  said 
Samuel. 

"I  wanted  nothing.  You  have  said  it,  brother. 
Count  Mordecai  of  Brussels  was  the  equal  of  earth's 
kings.  More  princes  applied  for  the  hand  of  my 
daughters  than  I  had  time  to  refuse." 

"Well?" 

"Well,  Jehovah,  or  Christ,  or  both,  placed  an 
extinguisher  over  this  too  bright  happiness  of  mine." 

"You  are  ruined?" 


AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  CROSS    95 

"Oh,  no,  on  the  the  contrary.  Only,  the  wind 
changed.  To  divert  the  attention  of  the  crowd 
from  a  demagogue  who  shouted,  'Clericalism  is  the 
great  enemy!'  the  Jesuits  devised  the  plan  of  raising 
a  cry  in  opposition:  'The  great  enemy  is 
Semitism!'  And  as  the  Jesuits  had  the  whole 
Church  behind  them,  and  the  demagogue  controlled 
nothing  but  a  fluctuating  crowd,  a  very  feather  in  the 
wind,  anti-semitism  prospered.  Thereupon  arose 
from  somewhere  or  other  certain  so-called  "intel- 
lectuals," who  defended  us  in  the  name  of  their 
"ideas."  What  clumsy  nonsense!  And  they  could 
not  be  hushed  up.  They  being  our  defenders,  others 
for  that  very  reason  attacked  us.  Whereas,  had  we, 
according  to  our  traditions,  offered  our  backs  to 
their  blows,  our  enemies  would  presently  have 
desisted,  from  weariness.  Now  the  harm  is  done. 
We  are  contemned.  No  more  priests  after  that  sat  on 
my  benches.  My  noble  friends  deserted  my  drawing 
rooms,  leaving  their  unpaid  notes  in  my  pocketbook. 
I  went  hunting  with  no  company  but  the  two  hundred 
gamekeepers  for  the  battue.  Society  forsook  me.  I 
was  no  longer  "esteemed."  Now,  let  me  declare  to 
you  that  there  is  no  more  exquisite  torture  than  to 
see  the  friendship  of  the  great  go  up  in  smoke. 
Unhesitatingly,  therefore,  resolutely,  with  the  object 
of  reinstating  myself  in  public  favour,  I  turned 
Christian.  It  means  nothing,  as  Ephraim  here 
demonstrated.  My  Christian  friends  came  back, 


96  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

with  contribution  boxes  outstretched,  just  as  in 
earlier  days.  My  generosity  has  ceased  to  be 
obnoxious.  Now,  as  before,  I  build  churches.  So 
there  is  nothing  really  new  in  my  estate.  When  I 
shall  have  received  some  honorary  employment  from 
the  Vatican  there  will  be  nothing  left  to  wish  for. 
I  have  all  that  is  needed  for  winning  in  the  game.  As 
it  is  wise,  however,  to  neglect  no  detail,  I  thought 
that  the  intervention  of  the  Master " 

He  indicated  the  Crucified.  But  Samuel  gave  him 
no  time  to  finish. 

"Brothers,"  he  cried,  "I  pity  you!  Conversion 
in  itself  means  nothing,  I  agree.  It  is  none  the  less 
true  that  there  are  traditions  worthy  of  respect, 
which  one  must  not  renounce  without  serious  reasons. 
A  base  money  lust  guided  you,  Ephraim.  And  you, 
Mordecai,  were  moved  by  love  of  the  approbation  of 
the  majority.  Which  shows  that  man  is  never 
satisfied  on  earth.  One  for  material  advantages,  the 
other  for  a  thing  as  illusory  as  imprisoning  the  wind, 
you  have  sacrificed  the  ideal  by  which  alone  hu- 
manity is  strong ' 

"But  you?"  cried  the  others.  "Why  were  you 
converted?" 

"Because  of  opinion.  I  came  here  even  now  to 
seek  fuller  light  from " 

"What?  What  is  that  you  say?  Say  it  over  again ! " 

"I  have  changed  my  religion  simply  because  my 
convictions  have  changed." 


97 

At  these  words  Ephraim  and  Mordecai  were  un- 
able to  contain  themselves.  Leaning  for  support 
against  the  stone  pile,  they  burst  into  laughter  so 
wild,  so  loud,  at  the  madness  of  the  statement,  that 
the  neighbouring  windows  shook.  They  uttered 
guttural  cries,  they  tossed  into  the  affrighted  air 
grunts  of  raucous  merriment,  before  the  unheard-of 
monstrosity  of  the  case.  There  were  Ohs  and  Ahs 
and  Hoo-hoos  and  Hee-hees,  interrupted  by  fits  of 
coughing  brought  on  by  strangling  laughter.  Then 
of  a  sudden,  reflection,  following  upon  amusement, 
turned  into  fury. 

"Villain!  Are  you  making  fools  of  us?  Perhaps 
you  think  us  such  simpletons  as  to  swallow  your  lie. 
Dog!  Reprobate!  Accursed!  Bad  Jew!  Raca! 
Raca !  Take  that  for  your  belief,  your  convictions ! " 

And  they  fell  to  beating  him. 

"What's  the  matter?"  cried  the  watchman,  ar- 
riving on  the  scene,  attracted  by  the  noise.  "You, 
over  there!  Stop  pommeling  one  another,  or  you 
will  go  to  jail.  Move  on!  Move  on!" 

In  less  time  than  it  takes  to  tell  it,  the  three  men 
had  quieted  down.  They  separated  hastily,  without 
good-night,  and  each  with  nimble  foot  went  home  to 
bed. 

The  fourth  Israelite,  Jesus,  son  of  Joseph,  was  left 
alone  beneath  the  stars.  He  is  still  there.  Without 
disrespect,  I  blame  Him  for  not  having  on  this 
occasion  put  in  a  word. 


EVIL  BENEFICENCE 


vm 

EVIL  BENEFICENCE 

BENEFICENCE  is  a  virtue:  no  one  will  deny 
it.  But  let  no  one  deny,  either,  that  there 
are  benefactors  maleficent  in  the  extreme, 
through  the  stupidity  of  their  benefactions. 

In  the  distant  days  of  my  youth  there  flourished 
in  the  Woodland  of  the  Vendee  a  highly  respected 
couple,  who  during  a  period  of  fifty  years  wearied 
three  cantons  with  their  "kindness." 

These  excellent  people  were,  of  course,  possessed 
of  great  wealth,  for  in  order  to  pester  one's  fellow- 
man  with  generosity  one  must  have  received  the 
means  for  it  from  heaven.  They  were,  on  top  of  that, 
pious,  again  as  a  matter  of  course,  for  the  preacher's 
promise  of  eternal  reward  has  killed  in  man  the 
beautiful  disinterestedness  that  is  the  fine  flower  of 
charity. 

The  Baron  de  Grilleres  was  a  small  noble  of  large 
fortune.  Formerly  a  member  of  the  body  guard  of 
Charles  X,  he  had  little  care  for  "Divine  Right"  or  a 
return  to  the  splendours  of  the  old  regime,  as  he  proved 
by  accepting  a  captaincy  in  the  militia  called  out  by 
Louis  Philippe  to  crush  the  royalist  attempt  at  an 

101 


102  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

uprising  in  the  Vendee,  in  which  the  Duchesse  de 
Berry  so  miserably  failed.  I  have  seen  in  the 
Baron's  study  a  shining  panoply  in  which  his 
epaulettes  of  a  royal  guardsman  eloquently  fra- 
ternized with  his  collar  piece  of  a  captain  of  the 
National  Guard  in  arms  against  the  King.  In  the 
centre  were  two  crossed  swords,  one  of  them  formerly 
worn  in  the  service  of  the  legitimate  sovereign 
anointed  at  Rheims,  the  other  drawn  from  its 
scabbard  against  that  same  legitimacy,  to  uphold  the 
rights  of  the  usurper. 

It  is  certain  that  the  excellent  soldier  had  never 
perceived  anything  contradictory  in  these  two 
manifestations  of  a  martial  spirit.  He  had  con- 
sistently upheld  established  order,  that  is  to  say,  the 
regime  which  assured  him  the  peaceful  enjoyment  of 
his  property,  and  the  logic  of  his  conduct  seemed  to 
him  unquestionable,  for  what  in  the  world  could  be 
more  sacred  than  that  which  promoted  the  quietness 
of  his  life?  Totally  uneducated,  barely  able  to  write 
his  name,  he  was  never  troubled  by  any  longings 
after  learning.  The  Church  answered  for  every- 
thing; he  referred  everything  to  the  Church.  This 
principle  has  the  great  advantage  of  dispensing  one 
from  any  effort  to  think  for  himself. 

The  Baroness,  of  middle-class  origin,  and  doubtless 
for  that  reason  very  proud  of  the  three  gates  on  her 
escutcheon,  lived  solely,  as  she  was  pleased  to  say, 
"for  the  glory  of  God."  Divinity,  according  to  this 


EVIL  BENEFICENCE  103 

simple  soul,  needed  the  Baroness  de  Grilleres  in  order 
to  attain  the  fullness  of  glory.  It  is  a  common  idea 
among  believers  that  the  Creator  of  the  Universe  is 
open  to  receiving  from  His  creatures  pleasant  or 
unpleasant  impressions,  just  as  we  are  from  our 
fellow-beings.  These  estimable  people  are  convinced 
that  the  Good  Lord  of  All  is  pleased  or  angered 
accordingly  as  they  act  thus  or  so.  They  hold 
Providence  in  such  small  esteem  as  to  believe  that  It 
needs  defending  by  those  same  human  beings  whom 
It  could  with  a  gesture  reduce  to  the  original  dust. 
Do  we  not  often  hear  it  said  that  such  and  such  a 
minister  or  party  is  bent  on  "driving  out  God"  from 
somewhere  or  other,  and  that  they  would  in  all 
likelihood  succeed  but  for  some  paladin,  ecclesiastical 
or  military,  stepping  in  to  defend  the  Supreme  Being, 
unequal,  apparently,  to  defending  Himself?  This 
Baroness  of  the  Vendee,  dwelling  in  perpetual 
colloquy  with  the  Eternal,  either  directly  or  through 
the  mediation  of  the  divine  functionaries  delegated 
for  that  purpose,  had  taken  as  her  special  mission  to 
"contribute  to  the  Glory  of  God."  In  some  nebulous 
way  it  seemed  to  her  that  if  she  gave  an  example  of 
all  the  virtues,  the  Sovereign  Artificer,  like  Vaucanson, 
delighted  with  himself  on  account  of  his  famous 
mechanical  duck,  would  be  puffed  up  with  pride  at 
His  success  in  producing  so  perfect  a  human  speci- 
men, and  that  the  admiration  of  the  world  for 
the  genius  capable  of  such  a  masterpiece  would 


104  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

deliciously  tickle  the  conceit  of  the  Almighty.  One 
might  attribute  to  the  Master  of  the  Infinite  less 
human  causes  of  satisfaction.  But,  might  one  say, 
what  matter,  if  this  rather  earthly  view  of  Divinity 
incited  the  devout  Baroness  to  the  practice  of  the 
virtues? 

"The  virtues,"  when  one  has  an  income  of  80,000 
francs,  and  no  personal  tastes,  no  passion  of  mind  or 
heart  to  satisfy,  do  not  seem  beyond  human  reach. 
For  "the  glory  of  God"  the  Baroness  de  Grilleres 
was  in  life  as  chaste  as  an  iceberg,  and  at  death  be- 
queathed her  wealth  to  the  rich. 

God,  the  Holy  Virgin,  and  the  Saints  bid  us  to  give. 
More  especially,  they  are  pleased  if  we  give  first  of  all 
to  the  Church.  Chapels  sprang  up  in  the  Baroness's 
footprints.  After  a  consultation  with  her  spiritual 
adviser,  she  had  dedicated  her  husband  to  Saint 
Joseph.  The  Saint  and  the  Baron  exchanged  a 
thousand  amenities.  The  one  received  statues  and 
prayers,  the  other,  the  highest  example  of  resignation. 
Wherever  two  avenues  crossed  in  the  park,  stood  a 
group  of  the  Holy  Family,  with  an  inscription  show- 
ing that  the  Baron  and  Baroness  de  Grilleres  aspired 
to  linking  their  names  in  the  public  memory  with 
those  of  the  pair  conspicuous  for  the  greatest  miracle 
known  on  earth. 

Upon  every  religious  establishment  in  the  sur- 
rounding country  successively  were  bestowed  sums 
of  money,  in  exchange  for  which  the  pious  donors 


EVIL  BENEFICENCE  105 

desired  nothing  but  a  marble  tablet,  placed  well  in 
view,  whereon  was  published  in  golden  letters  that 
Christian  charity  in  connection  with  which  the 
Master  has  said  that  the  right  hand  must  not  know 
what  is  done  by  the  left.  Of  course,  the  presence  of 
the  poor,  the  sick,  and  the  infirm,  in  an  institution 
conducted  by  some  congregation,  did  not  actually 
constitute  a  reason  in  the  minds  of  the  Baron  and 
Baroness  for  withholding  their  gifts.  They  con- 
sidered, however,  that  direct  service  to  God  and  the 
Saints  must  be  given  precedence,  for  the  heavenly 
powers  were  the  ones  who  dispensed  rewards;  it 
might,  moreover,  be  feared  that  there  was  a  sort  of 
impiety  in  thwarting  the  unfathomable  designs  of 
Providence,  by  attempting  to  alleviate  the  trials  It 
had  seen  fit  to  impose  upon  human  beings. 

When  the  mayor  of  La  Fougeraie,  a  notorious  Free 
Mason,  headed  a  subscription  for  setting  up  a  public 
fountain  in  the  village  square,  the  lord  and  lady  of  the 
chateau  refused  to  contribute,  but  immediately  de- 
voted 2,000  francs  to  purchasing  a  holy  water  font 
of  Carrara  marble,  on  which  might  be  seen  a  flight  of 
angels  carrying  heavenward  the  escutcheon  with  the 
three  gates. 

As  for  the  poor  who  did  not  shrink  from  personally 
soliciting  alms,  the  Baron  and  Baroness  alike  held 
them  in  profound  contempt.  In  the  history  of 
every  wretched  beggar  there  invariably  turned  out 
to  be  some  fault  in  conduct  making  him  unworthy  of 


106  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

charity.  One  of  them  had  got  drunk  last  Sunday  at 
the  tavern,  one  was  accused  of  stealing  potatoes, 
another  had  been  mixed  up  in  a  brawl  at  the  village 
festival.  How  could  disorderly  living  of  this  sort 
lead  to  anything  but  mendicancy?  "You  ought  to 
go  to  work,  my  good  man,"  they  would  say.  "Look 
for  employment.  Do  you  so  much  as  go  to  mass? 
Do  you  keep  Lent?  Go  and  see  the  curb.  It  is  to 
him  we  give  our  alms,  for  the  whole  countryside 
knows  we  keep  nothing  for  ourselves  of  what  the 
Good  God  has  given  us.  It  is  not  to  the  deceitful 
riches  of  this  earth  that  we  must  cling,  my  poor 
friend;  for  heavenly  things  only  must  we  strive.  Go 
and  see  the  cure,  he  is  so  kind.  He  will  know  how  to 
minister  to  the  needs  of  your  soul." 

Sometimes  the  gift  of  a  little  brass  medal  with  the 
image  of  Saint  Joseph  or  the  Virgin  Mary  would 
accompany  this  homily,  and  the  beggar,  however 
hardened  in  his  evil  ways,  would  depart  with  humble 
salutations  and  a  melancholy  thankfulness. 

It  is  true  that  vice  deserves  hate,  but  can  it  be 
denied  that  certain  aspects  of  virtue  are  utterly 
hateful?  Vice,  not  unlikely  to  bring  about  humility 
and  repentance,  is  sometimes  capable  of  generous 
actions  without  hope  of  reward.  The  selfish  good- 
ness of  calculating  virtue  sees  in  Christian  charity  the 
opening  of  a  bank  account  with  the  Creator,  and 
while  making  lavish  gifts,  forfeits  the  merit  of  giving, 
by  the  avowed  exaction  of  a  profit  immeasurably 


EVIL  BENEFICENCE  107 

greater  than  the  amount  paid.  The  Baron  and 
Baroness  de  Grilleres  basked  in  the  delight  of  hearing 
themselves  praised  from  the  pulpit.  No  flattering 
hyperbole  seemed  to  them  excessive,  for,  as  they 
sowed  money  on  all  sides,  they  looked  for  a  great 
harvest  of  splendidly  ostentatious  veneration.  All 
they  lacked  in  order  to  be  loved  was  that  they  should 
first  love  a  little. 

Of  family  life  they  never  knew  anything  but  the 
companionship  of  two  egoisms,  both  fiercely  straining 
toward  an  incomprehensible  future  felicity,  to  be 
earned  by  the  application  of  a  language  of  love,  in 
which  was  wrapped  their  lust  of  eternity.  They  had 
for  incidental  diversion  the  base  adulation  of  poor 
relations,  whose  mean  calculations  did  not,  however, 
escape  them.  But  the  habit  of  hearing,  at  every  step, 
every  conceivable  virtue  attributed  to  them,  was  an 
agreeable  one,  and  although  they  knew  that  money 
counted  for  something  in  the  outpouring  of  eulogistic 
superlatives  of  which  they  were  the  objects,  they  lent 
themselves  easily  to  the  sweet  belief  that  they  did,  in 
fact,  achieve  prodigies  of  kindness  every  hour  of 
their  lives.  No  need  to  say  that  they  never  made  a 
gift  of  three  shirts  or  a  pair  of  shoes  to  a  grand 
nephew  without  the  fact  being  trumpeted  abroad. 

A  delightful  game,  for  the  Baroness,  was  distribut- 
ing legacies  among  her  relatives.  Not  a  piece  of 
furniture,  of  jewellery,  or  of  silver,  did  she  possess,  not 
a  single  object  of  commonest  use,  that  she  had  not  in 


108  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

theory  and  in  anticipation  given  to  some  one  of  her 
heirs.  She  would  open  a  wardrobe  and  show  the 
happy  prospective  owner  a  label  posted  on  the  inside 
of  the  door:  "I  bequeathe  this  piece  of  furniture, 
which  canie  to  me  from  my  dear  Mamma,  to  my  good 
little  cousin  Mary,  whom  I  love  with  all  my  heart." 
Picture  the  embraces,  the  ensuing  effusions  of  tender- 
ness !  Further  on,  the  corner  of  a  bit  of  paper  would 
stick  out  from  under  the  pedestal  of  a  clock.  "I 
bequeathe  this  clock,  which  was  the  property  of  my 
beloved  Grandmother,  to  my  grandnephew,  Charles, 
who  will  pray  for  his  good  aunt."  With  what 
ecstasy  little  grandnephew  Charles,  led  with  much 
mystery  to  the  spot,  would  with  his  own  eyes  read 
the  text  naming  him  possessor  of  the  treasure! 
No  member  of  the  family  was  without  his  allotted 
share. 

Only,  the  capricious  Baroness,  whom  it  was  very 
easy  to  annoy,  was  perpetually  taking  offence.  For 
a  delayed  letter,  for  thanks  which  seemed  insufficient 
tribute  to  her  generosity,  she  would  declare  that 
Mary  or  Charles  no  longer  loved  her,  and  as  she 
looked  upon  affection  merely  as  a  marketable 
commodity,  the  little  slips  of  paper  referring  to  heir- 
ship  were  immediately  replaced  by  others.  Mary's 
wardrobe  would  fall  to  Selina.  Charles's  clock  would 
leap  into  John's  inheritance,  who  would  be  apprised 
of  the  fact  in  deep  secret,  until  presently,  for  some 
unconscious  fault,  the  clock  would  be  temporarily 


EVIL  BENEFICENCE  109 

bestowed  upon  Alphonse,  and  the  wardrobe  upon 
Rose.  Variable  book-keeping,  which  kindled  among 
relatives  inextinguishable  hatreds.  But  the  Baron- 
ess* masterpiece  was  the  marriage  between  John 
and  Rose. 

John  was  an  overseer  of  highway  and  bridge 
construction.  He  loved  his  cousin  Mary,  who 
contributed  by  her  needlework  to  the  slender  family 
earnings.  The  young  people  had  been  betrothed  six 
months,  when  one  fine  day,  without  any  known 
reason,  the  Baroness  declared  that  Rose  was  the  one 
for  John,  and  John  exactly  suited  to  Rose.  Great 
commotion.  The  fear  of  being  disinherited  kept 
every  one  concerned  in  subjection  to  the  "dearly 
beloved  Aunt."  Mary,  desperately  weeping,  was 
preached  into  promising  to  enter  a  convent,  the 
Baroness  paying  her  dowry;  this  for  the  dear  sake  of 
John,  whose  name  she  might  unite  in  her  prayers 
with  that  of  the  Providential  Aunt,  who  mercifully 
opened  the  way  of  salvation  to  her.  John,  alas,  was 
more  easily  persuaded  than  she,  when  he  learned  that 
he  and  Rose  together  would  be  chief  heirs;  and  Rose, 
who  had  ideas  of  grandeur,  and  dreamt  of  nothing 
less  than  going  on  to  the  stage,  lent  herself  with  her 
whole  heart  to  the  comedy  of  love  fatly  remunerative. 
John  was  invited  to  give  up  his  work  and  "live  like  a 
gentleman,"  and  Rose's  natural  tendencies  cooperat- 
ing, the  young  couple,  loaded  down  with  gifts  of 
sounding  specie,  spread  themselves  gloriously,  under 


110  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

the  happy  eyes  of  the  Baroness,  in  every  description 
of  silly  extravagance. 

The  Baron  died  of  an  attack  of  gout,  a  disease 
unknown  to  clodhoppers.  His  wealth  passed  to  his 
wife.  Rose  and  John  had  received  on  their  marriage 
an  income  of  only  10,000  francs,  but  they  had  the 
formal  promise  of  the  entire  inheritance.  Un- 
fortunately, a  week  before  her  death,  the  Baroness 
was  shocked  by  "a  lack  of  regard"  on  Rose's  part, 
which  consisted  in  not  having  evinced  a  sufficiently 
vociferous  despair  at  the  recital  of  her  Aunt's  suffer- 
ings! By  a  will  made  in  her  last  moments  every- 
thing was  bequeathed  to  the  Church,  in  payment  for 
numberless  ceremonies  whereby  the  utmost  of  ce- 
lestial bliss  was  to  be  secured  for  the  dying  woman. 

Rose  and  John,  after  a  torrent  of  invectives,  left 
that  part  of  the  country.  An  income  of  10,000 
francs  signified  poverty  for  them.  They  fled  to 
Paris,  where  in  less  than  a  year  John  lost  down  to  his 
last  penny  in  speculations.  After  that  they  went 
their  respective  ways,  Rose  to  sing  in  a  cafe-concert  of 
the  Faubourg  St.  Martin,  John  to  take  employment 
with  a  booking  agency  for  the  races.  He  has  as 
yet  only  been  sentenced  to  one  month's  imprison- 
ment for  a  swindling  card-game. 

Admirable  results  of  an  Evil  Beneficence! 


A  MAD  THINKER 


IX 

A  MAD  THINKER 

ALONG  the  wise,  some  will  perhaps  agree 
with  me,  the  maddest  madmen  are  not 
those  who  are  commonly  called  so.  In 
great  walled  and  barred  and  guarded  buildings — 
prisons  where  people  who  are  condemned  by  "sci- 
ence," just  as  elsewhere  people  are  condemned  by 
"law,"  expiate  the  crime  of  a  psychological  disorder 
greater  than  that  of  the  majority — unfortunate 
beings  are  kept  behind  bolts  and  triple  locks,  for  the 
incoherence  of  their  syllogisms,  while  fellow  mortals 
no  more  mentally  stable  are  allowed  to  do  their 
raving  out  on  the  world's  stage. 

For  one  whole  year  in  my  youth  I  dwelt  among  the 
lunatics  of  Bicetre.  I  had  many  interviews  with 
"impulsives,"  whom  a  sudden  disturbance  of  the 
organism  had  made  dangerously  violent,  and  who 
talked  pathetically  about  their  "illness,"  believing  it 
cured,  whereas  it  was  not.  I  held  discussions  with 
patients  suffering  from  more  or  less  specific  delusions. 
From  those  now  long-past  associations  I  have  re- 
tained a  habit  of  comparing  the  mentalities  inside 
asylums  with  those  outside,  which  proceeding  leads 

113 


114  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

rather  to  the  proposal  than  the  solution  of  prob- 
lems. 

What  seems  clear,  however,  is  that  we  have  not 
discovered  a  standard  of  good  sense,  a  way  of  measur- 
ing reason,  by  which  we  could  definitely  separate 
sane  from  morbid  psychology;  that,  furthermore, 
such  a  method,  had  we  discovered  it,  would  not  help 
us  much,  considering  the  disconcerting  ease  with 
which  men  pass  from  the  normal  to  the  pathological 
state,  and  vice  versa.  We  should  need  too  many 
asylums,  and  there  would  be  too  continual  a  com- 
ing and  going  in  and  out  of  them.  We  should 
not  have  time,  between  sojourns  there,  to  study 
what  we  wanted  to  learn,  to  teach  what  we  knew, 
to  prove  to  each  other  that  we  are  all  afloat  in  a 
sea  of  errors,  to  quarrel,  to  vote,  to  kill  one  another, 
and  to  reproduce  ourselves  for  the  sake  of  perpetu- 
ating the  balance  of  unbalance  amid  which  fate  has 
placed  us. 

Let  us  then  accept  the  human  phenomenon  as  it 
stands,  and  beware  of  classifications  which  might 
lead  us  to  believe  that  the  mere  fact  of  being  at 
liberty  on  the  public  highways  is  a  guarantee  of 
sound  mind.  Whoever  doubts  this  may  wisely 
consider  the  judgments  men  are  pleased  to  pass  upon 
one  another.  Question  the  Christian  with  regard  to 
the  atheist,  he  will  tell  you  that  one  must  be  totally 
devoid  of  common  sense  to  deny  evidence  that  to 
him  seems  conclusive.  The  Mahomedan  will  not 


A  MAD  THINKER  115 

conceal  from  you,  if  you  discuss  Christianity  with 
him,  that  one  must  unmistakably  be  mad,  to  identify 
three  in  one,  and  believe  in  a  physical  manifestation 
of  God  to  man.  The  Buddhist  will  look  upon  the 
Mussulman  as  feeble  in  reasoning  power,  and  the 
practiser  of  fetishism  on  the  coast  of  Africa  or  of 
Australasia  will  declare  all  these  sects  foolish,  since 
to  him  the  only  rational  thing  is  to  worship  his 
fetishes,  which  are,  strangely  enough,  matched  in  our 
religion  by  the  many  miraculous  statues.  Lastly, 
let  me  mention  the  philosophers,  who  agree  in 
regarding  all  those  people  as  affected  with  morbid 
degeneration,  while  pitying  one  another  because  of 
the  mutual  imputation  of  diseased  understanding. 

At  the  time  when  I,  like  so  many  others,  was 
seeking  for  the  absolute  truth  which  should  give  me 
the  key  to  all  knowledge,  I  made  the  acquaintance  of 
one  of  those  same  seekers,  possibly  mad,  or  possibly 
gifted  with  more  than  ordinary  intelligence,  who 
applied  all  his  mental  energy  to  the  solution  of  the 
problem  of  the  construction  of  the  world,  and  to 
answering  the  questions  raised  by  the  presence  of 
man  on  earth.  He  was  one  of  those  "unfrocked 
priests"  whom  people  usually  blame  because  they 
refuse  to  preach  what  seems  to  them  a  lie.  I  do  not 
give  his  name,  his  express  desire  having  been  to  pass 
unknown  among  men.  He  left  the  priesthood 
quietly,  and  after  a  fairly  long  stay  in  Paris,  during 
which  he  studied  medicine,  returned  to  his  native 


116  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

village,  where  two  small  farms  brought  him  an 
income  more  than  sufficient  for  his  needs. 

He  lived  alone,  despised  by  pious  relatives,  who 
besieged  him  with  flattering  attentions  aimed  at  his 
inheritance,  but  were  kept  at  a  respectful  distance 
by  his  witty  and  well-directed  shafts  of  sarcasm. 
A  veritable  Doctor  Faustus.  Fifty  years  he  spent  in 
assiduous  study  of  the  great  minds  that  make  up  the 
history  of  human  thought.  His  door  was  open  to 
the  poor,  but  he  did  not  seek  them  out,  absorbed  as 
he  was  in  problems  allowing  him  neither  diversion 
nor  respite.  He  had  no  curiosity  as  to  what  was 
going  on  in  the  world.  His  spirit  lived  in  the  per- 
petual tension  of  reaching  out  toward  the  unknown, 
feverishly  importuned  to  deliver  up  its  mystery,  and 
he  did  not  wish  to  know  anything  of  men,  their  con- 
flicts, their  often  contradictory  efforts  to  better  their 
fate.  Had  he  lived  in  the  midst  of  the  Siberian 
steppes,  or  on  some  Malay  Island,  he  would  not  have 
been  more  entirely  cut  off  from  the  surrounding  social 
life.  The  Franco-Prussian  war  and  the  Commune  were 
as  remote  from  him  in  the  depths  of  the  Vendee 
as  Alexander's  expedition  to  the  Indies.  When  one 
of  the  farmers  once  tried  to  recall  that  period  to  his 
mind:  "Yes,  yes,  I  remember,"  he  answered,  "all 
the  fruit  was  frozen  that  year."  It  was  the  only 
vestige  in  his  memory  of  those  terrific  storms. 

He  was  naturally  considered  mad,  but  it  could  not 
be  denied  that  he  reasoned  pertinently  on  all  sub- 


A  MAD  THINKER  117 

jects.  Absorbed  in  books,  he  had  for  sole  company 
the  men  of  all  time,  and  felt  himself  far  better  ac- 
quainted with  Leucippus,  Democritus,  Epicurus, 
Newton,  Laplace,  Darwin,  and  Auguste  Comte 
than  with  Bismarck  or  General  Trochu.  Shut  up 
day  and  night  in  a  great  room  to  which  no  one  had 
admittance,  he  lived  over  with  delight  the  vast  poem 
of  the  creation  of  the  world.  In  waking  to  conscious- 
ness, the  universe,  he  was  wont  to  say,  had  set  us  a 
riddle,  after  the  manner  of  the  Sphinx,  and  he, 
a  new  Oedipus,  was  challenging  the  monster.  He 
would  tear  out  its  secret,  he  would  proclaim  it  from 
the  earth  to  the  stars,  while  disdaining  the  glory  dear 
to  ordinary  mortals.  For  he  had  taken  every  pre- 
caution to  ensure  the  author's  name  remaining  abso- 
lutely unknown  when  his  great  work  should  be 
published.  In  order  to  avert  suspicion,  the  book  was 
first  to  be  printed  in  a  foreign  tongue. 

If  the  Abbe  was  mad — the  peasants  still  called 
him  by  his  ecclesiastical  title,  either  from  old  habit, 
or  respect  for  his  mysterious  investigations — his 
madness  was  certainly  not  a  mania  for  self-aggrand- 
izement. Disinterested  truth,  truth  with  no  other 
reward  than  success  in  the  effort  to  reach  it,  was  the 
single  impulse  moving  this  monkishly  cloistered 
existence.  One  might  say  that  there  was  proof 
of  an  unbalanced  mind.  I  will  not  argue  the  point. 
Absolute  truth  is  undoubtedly  beyond  our  reach. 
It  is  none  the  less  true  that  the  sustained  effort  to 


118  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

attain  truth  remains  the  noblest  distinction  of  man. 
If  it  is  reasonable  to  desire  to  know,  who  shall 
say  at  what  point  it  becomes  folly,  through  aspira- 
tion outstripping  the  possibility  of  satisfaction? 
Since,  furthermore,  this  possibility  increases  with  the 
progressive  evolution  of  the  mind,  might  not  it 
follow  that  one  who  had  been  thought  mad,  in  olden 
days,  would  be  called  wise  to-day  and  that  the  mad- 
man of  to-day  will  in  future  ages  be  a  prodigy  of 
luminous  intellect?  Find  the  boundary  line  be- 
tween reason  and  unreason  in  this  inextricable 
tangle! 

But  to  return  to  our  excellent  "Abbe,"  with  whom, 
by  a  curious  chance,  I  became  intimately  acquainted, 
a  few  months  before  his  death,  I  must  say  that  he 
never  troubled  himself  with  these  considerations,  to 
him  inane.  He  did  not  deny  that  there  were  mala- 
dies of  the  mind,  but  he  professed  complete  scorn  for 
the  "collection  of  low  prejudices"  to  which  the  name 
of  "reason"  was  given  by  the  general  public.  "I 
have  come  too  soon,"  he  said  to  me.  "In  a  few 
thousand  years  they  will  erect  statues  to  the  man 
who  will  be  a  repetition  of  me.  So  far,  men  have 
parted  at  the  cross-roads  where  the  paths  of  science 
and  faith  diverge.  Some  day  there  will  be  one  broad 
highroad  to  knowledge.  The  time  has  not  come  to 
lay  that  road.  As  barbarism  covered  over  the  pre- 
mature flowering  of  Greek  thought,  so  our  present 
savagery  would  soon  crowd  out  truths  too  newly  ar- 


A  MAD  THINKER  119 

rived  at,  which  only  very  gradually  will  take  root 
in  men's  minds." 

"Tell  me,"  I  said  to  him  one  day,  "since  you  stand 
on  such  a  height  that  you  are  free  from  the  pride  of 
the  precursor,  that  you  are  insensible  to  human  glory, 
that  you  do  not  even  intend  to  leave  to  posterity 
your  name  as  a  seeker,  have  you  never,  alone  with 
your  conscience,  and  stripped  of  all  personal  inter- 
est, asked  yourself  whether  you  were  sure,  after  all, 
entirely  sure,  of  possessing  this  total  and  absolute 
truth?" 

The  Abbe's  little  gray  eyes  twinkled.  He  an- 
swered with  a  melancholy  smile:  "The  final  and 
irreparable  failure  of  my  religious  faith  was  a  fearful 
blow  to  me.  I  no  longer  believed.  What  had  ap- 
peared to  me  good  evidence  on  the  day  before  looked 
to  me  from  that  day  onward  like  the  irrational  wan- 
derings of  delirium.  But  I  realize  to-day,  after  so 
many  years  of  meditation,  that  although  my  old 
conceptions  of  existence  could  not  stand  the  test  of 
experience,  yet  the  framework  of  my  mind  has  re- 
mained the  same.  I  had  abandoned  the  Theological 
Absolute;  I  was  in  search  of  a  Scientific  Absolute, 
no  more  to  be  found  than  the  other.  I  do  not  regret 
my  error,  for  I  owe  to  it  the  greatest  joys  of  my  life. 
For  thirty  years  the  marvel  of  seeing  the  veil  of  Isis 
slowly  raised,  and  the  world,  bit  by  bit,  taken  to 
pieces  and  put  together  again,  according  to  infallible 
laws,  brought  me  the  supreme  delight  of  grasping 


120  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

the  world  by  thought.  When  I  had  exhausted  analy- 
sis and  synthesis,  I  undertook  to  tell  my  discoveries, 
and  such  was  my  mastery  of  my  subject  that  in  ten 
years  I  wrote  a  volume  of  five  hundred  pages,  in 
which,  I  can  say  it  now,  for  I  have  burned  it,  was 
contained  what,  in  incalculable  centuries  to  come, 
will  be  considered  the  treasure  of  human  knowledge." 

"You  burned  this  work  of  yours?" 

"Yes,  to  replace  it  by  another." 

"And  is  this  other  one  final?" 

"You  want  my  complete  confession?  I  am  so 
near  death  that  I  will  afford  you  this  pleasure. 
Having  finished  my  book,  I  decided  to  devote  the 
rest  of  my  life  to  going  over  it,  pen  in  hand,  and 
annotating  it.  Alas!  When  I  became  my  own  critic 
I  found  the  fine  frenzy  of  creation  replaced  by  a 
power  of  keenly  reasoning  destructiveness  which  I 
had  up  to  that  time  not  suspected  hi  myself.  The 
creators  of  systems  hi  the  past  were  only  gifted  with 
the  power  of  induction  and  prophecy.  I  had  the 
power  to  dissect,  to  undermine  my  own  inductions 
and  prophecies.  What  we  term  truth  is  but  an 
elimination  of  errors.  I  thought,  I  still  think,  that 
I  had  attained  truth,  pure  and  simple,  but  the  edi- 
fice so  laboriously  built  could  not  escape  the  pitiless 
criticism  of  the  builder.  The  same  mental  gymnas- 
tics which  had  led  to  my  replacing  former  doubts 
by  demonstrated  affirmations  now  raised  fresh 
doubts  in  the  face  of  my  new  demonstrations.  What 


A  MAD  THINKER  121 

would  have  been  their  effect  upon  the  unprepared  in- 
telligences for  which  the  result  of  my  labour  was  in- 
tended? I  spent  five  years  of  painful  spiritual  ten- 
sion in  rewriting  and  condensing  my  work." 

"And  this  time  you  were  satisfied?" 

"No  more  than  before.  While  I  am  writing,  I  am, 
in  spite  of  myself,  possessed  by  the  absolute.  I  take 
too  vaulting  a  leap  toward  truth.  Then  I  realize 
that  men  will  shrug  their  shoulders  and  call  me  mad, 
and  I  question  whether  it  is  not  in  fact  madness 
to  try  to  bring  to  intelligences  of  to-day  knowledge 
which  belongs  to  the  far  future.  Furthermore,  no 
matter  how  strongly  I  have  felt  myself  fortified  on 
all  sides  by  evidence,  a  fury  of  criticism  has  hurled 
me  to  the  attack  of  my  fortress  of  truth.  It  took 
two  years  to  reduce  my  five-hundred-page  book  to 
two  hundred  pages.  Four  more  years  of  work — and 
a  notebook  of  perhaps  fifty  pages  is  all  that  is  left — 
the  bone  and  marrow  of  the  whole  matter,  for  my  aim 
has  been  to  eliminate,  one  by  one,  every  element  of 
possible  uncertainty." 

"And  now  there  remains  no  doubt,  I  suppose?" 

"Nay,  doubt  remains.  Is  it  strength  or  weakness 
of  mind?  I  cannot  say.  If  I  have  time  to  go  on 
working,  nothing  will  be  left  of  my  work,  and  I  shall 
have  made  the  great  journey,  from  reason  that  seeks 
to  folly  that  finds,  and  from  folly  that  knows  to 
reason  which,  very  wisely,  still  doubts." 

The  Abbe  died  six  months  later,  leaving  all  he 


122  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

had  to  the  poor.  Besides  his  will,  not  a  single  page 
of  writing  was  found  among  his  belongings. 

The  village  priest  came  to  see  him  in  his  last  hour. 
He  spoke  to  him  of  God — bade  him  believe,  alleging 
that  science  led  to  doubt — whereas  faith 

"Then  you  yourself  are  sure,  are  you?"  asked  the 
dying  man. 

"Certainly — I  know  with  absolute  certainty." 

"Reverend  sir,  I  once  spoke  as  you  are  speaking. 
Only  ignorance  is  capable  of  such  proud  utterances. 
Grant  to  a  dying  man  the  privilege  of  delivering  this 
lesson.  I  who  have  aspired  to  know,  know  that  you 
know  no  more  than  I — even  less — I  dare  affirm  it. 
It  is  really  not  enough  to  justify  taking  up  so  much 
room  in  the  sunshine!" 


BETTER  THAN  STEALING 


X 

BETTER  THAN  STEALING 

THE  man  from  Paris  is  ^natural  object  of 
hatred  to  the  poacher.  I  refer  to  the  hunting 
man  from  Paris,  who  raises  game  for  his  own 
sport  in  carefully  preserved  enclosures.  This  osten- 
tatious personage,  who  comes  and  fills  the  country- 
side with  special  guards  to  keep  the  aggrieved  pedes- 
trian out  of  glades  and  plains  and  bypaths,  seems  to 
the  rustics  a  pernicious  intruder,  in  a  state  of  legal 
warfare  against  the  countryman,  who  feels  himself 
the  friend  and  legitimate  owner  of  the  animals,  furry 
or  feathered,  with  whom  his  labour  in  the  fields  has 
made  him  well  acquainted.  All  is  fair  play  against 
this  "maker  of  trouble."  The  only  thing  is  not 
to  get  "pinched." 

Then  begins  a  warfare  of  ambushes  and  ruses  with 
the  band  of  gamekeepers,  who,  having  the  law  on 
their  side,  always  end  by  getting  the  better  of  those 
whose  only  argument  of  defence  is  the  "natural 
right"  of  a  man  to  destroy  wild  life. 

During  the  season  there  are  almost  daily  exchanges 
of  shot.  Often  a  man  is  killed,  which  means  jail, 
penitentiary,  scaffold.  All  for  a  miserable  rabbit! 

125 


126  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

Remnants  of  the  feudalism  of  birth  which  the  effort 
of  revolutions  has  merely  replaced  by  the  feudalism 
of  money. 

The  worst  of  it  is  that  gamekeepers  and  poachers, 
mutually  exasperated,  cling  to  their  quarrel,  and  that 
a  taste  for  brigandage  develops  in  men  diverted  from 
the  unremunerative  tilling  of  the  soil  by  the  daily 
temptation  of  booty.  Deal  as  harshly  as  you  may 
with  the  poacher,  you  will  not  succeed  in  discouraging 
him.  Has  anything  ever  cured  a  devotee  of  roulette? 
And  to  the  excitement  of  gambling,  in  this  case,  is 
added  the  attraction  of  danger.  There  is  no  cure  for 
it.  The  question  of  increasing  the  penalty  for  poach- 
ing often  comes  up.  There  will  be  long  discussion 
before  anything  is  ever  done.  The  discrepancy 
would  be  too  great  between  the  misdeed  and  the 
punishment.  And  the  matter  of  elections  enters 
into  it.  No  one  is  anxious  to  make  too  violent  ene- 
mies among  the  citizen  electors. 

Entirely  different  is  the  question  of  poaching  in 
the  happy  regions — there  are  not  many  left  in 
France — where  preserved  hunting  is  still  at  the  rhe- 
torical stage.  There  the  poacher  is  merely  a  hunter 
without  a  permit,  and  as  no  such  thing  exists  as  a 
peasant  whom  a  hare  has  never  tempted  to  use  his 
gun,  and  as  a  natural  understanding  unites  all  those 
who  are  compelled  to  pay  taxes  against  the  State 
which  represents  taxation  and  statute  labour,  never 
will  you  find  a  field  labourer  ready  to  admit  that  a 


BETTER  THAN  STEALING  127 

shot,  in  order  to  be  lawful,  needs  the  seal  of  a  tax 
gatherer. 

The  poacher  on  free  territory,  therefore,  does  not 
hide  as  does  the  poacher  on  preserved  lands.  He 
plays  a  sort  of  tag  with  the  rural  guard,  who  is  by 
no  means  eager  to  meet  him,  and  with  the  occasional 
gendarmes,  whose  cocked  hats  and  baldricks  make 
them  conspicuous  from  afar.  Following  along 
hedges,  looking  for  burrows,  keeping  his  eyes  stead- 
fastly on  the  ground,  he  scents  out  the  wild  creatures 
ari^  knows  the  art  of  capturing  them. 

How  often,  in  the  days  of  my  youth,  have  I  ac- 
companied the  redoubtable  Janiere  on  his  Sunday 
expeditions,  when  he  would  ostensibly  leave  the 
village  by  the  highroad,  his  hands  in  his  pockets, 
then  dash  into  the  fields,  and  miraculously  find  his 
gun  hidden  in  a  bush,  a  few  feet  from  a  rabbit  hole. 
Nor  man  nor  beast  was  ever  known  to  get  the  better 
of  him.  He  was  an  old  Chouan  of  1815  who,  having 
been  a  poacher  all  his  days,  and  a  marauder  now 
and  then,  died  without  ever  having  had  a  writ 
served  on  him.  The  entire  district  took  pride  in 
Janiere.  When  he  left  us  for  a  better  world:  "He 
never  once  went  to  prison,"  said  the  peasants  by  way 
of  funeral  oration.  What  that  man  could  deduce 
from  a  blade  of  grass  lying  over  on  one  side  or  the 
other  at  the  edge  of  a  thicket  really  approached  the 
miraculous.  He  would  consult  the  wind,  the  sun, 
and  would  construct  for  me  the  train  of  reasoning 


128  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

which  must  have  brought  the  hare  to  the  precise 
spot  where  we  invariably  found  him.  His  accommo- 
dating gun  made  no  more  noise  than  the  cracking  of  a 
whip.  The  victim,  hidden  in  the  hollow  of  a  pollard, 
would  at  nightfall  find  its  way  under  Janiere's 
blouse. 

But  whither  have  I  let  myself  wander?  It  was 
of  the  water  poacher  that  I  meant  to  speak.  He, 
one  might  say,  is  the  enemy  of  no  man  on  earth. 
Fish,  of  dubious  morals  we  are  assured,  find  no  such 
personal  sympathy  among  us  as  do  the  furry  and 
feathered  folk.  A  carp,  gasping  on  the  grass,  does 
not  bring  tears  to  our  eyes,  he  seems  to  belong  to  a 
different  world,  and  the  police  officer  at  war  against 
illicit  fishing,  backed  up  by  more  or  less  convincing 
arguments  relating  to  the  restocking  of  rivers,  has 
no  one  on  his  side.  For  this  reason,  my  compatriot 
Simon  Grelu  counted  as  many  friends  as  there  were 
inhabitants  in  the  canton.  The  killing  of  a  hare  in 
his  lair  rouses  enmity  among  the  poachers  who  alike 
had  their  eye  on  him.  No  quarrel  results  from  a 
tench  landed.  Simon  Grelu,  besides  fishing  at  once 
for  profit  and  the  love  of  it,  gave  freely  of  his  catch, 
whence  came  the  universal  good-will  accompanying 
him  on  his  nightly  or  daily  expeditions. 

Our  river  in  the  Vendee,  the  Lay,  wends  its  leis- 
urely way  amid  reeds  and  waterlilies,  sometimes 
narrowing  between  rocks  covered  with  broom  and 
furze  and  oak  trees,  sometimes  widening  under  over- 


BETTER  THAN  STEALING  129 

arching  alders,  onward  to  the  meadows,  where  it 
attracts  the  flocks.  Everywhere  are  mills  with 
their  gates.  It  is  a  populous  river,  and  no  one  could 
be  said  to  "populate"  it  more  than  Simon  Grelu, 
nominally  a  miller's  assistant,  living  in  the  ruin  of 
what  was  thought  to  have  been  a  mill  at  the  time  of 
the  wars  between  the  Blues  and  the  Whites. 

Simon  Grelu  is  a  great  tall  fellow,  all  legs  and  arms 
and  joints,  with  a  long  neck  leading  up  to  a  long  nose, 
which  gives  him  the  look  of  a  heron.  From  the 
Marshland  to  the  Woodland  there  is  no  more  noted 
spoiler  of  rivers;  he  is  celebrated  for  the  constancy 
of  his  relations  with  the  police.  Hampered  by  his 
lengthy  appendages,  he  is  perpetually  letting  himself 
be  caught,  and  disdaining  what  will  be  thought  of  it. 
Every  angle  of  every  rock,  every  stump  by  the  water's 
edge,  is  so  familiar  and  homelike  to  him  that  he 
cannot  bear  to  leave  his  river,  and  rather  than  make 
good  his  escape  on  land,  prefers  to  have  a  warrant 
served  on  him,  secure  in  the  fact  that  he  has  nothing 
wherewith  to  pay  a  fine. 

When  the  police  sergeant  rebukes  his  men  for  their 
laziness,  they  cry  with  one  accord: 

"Let  us  go  and  look  up  Grelu!" 

They  go,  and  find  him  without  the  least  trouble. 

That  was  what  happened  last  week,  and  owing  to 
it  I  had  the  pleasure  of  witnessing  the  interview  I 
am  about  to  relate.  I  was  taking  a  walk  with  the 
Mayor,  when  Simon  Grelu  suddenly  stood  before 


130  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

us.  More  elongated  than  ever,  with  his  bony,  sallow 
face,  his  pointed  skull  topped  by  a  little  tuft  of  white 
hair,  his  mouth  open  in  a  smile  truly  formidable 
from  the  threat  of  a  single  great  black  tooth  which 
the  slightest  cough  would  inevitably  have  flung  in 
one's  face,  the  heron-man  stood  before  us,  motion- 
less in  his  wooden  shoes. 

"I  have  come  for  my  certificate,  monsieur  le 
maire"  said  he  with  a  sort  of  clucking  which  might 
express  either  mirth  or  despair. 

"What  certificate?" 

"Why,  my  certificate  of  mendicancy,  as  usual, 
when  I  am  caught." 

"What!  Again?    Is  there  no  end  to  it?" 

"It  is  better  than  stealing,  isn't  it,  monsieur  le 
maire?" 

"But  you  have  not  the  choice  between  poaching 
and  stealing  only,  Simon.  You  could  work." 

"And  do  you  suppose  I  don't  work?  Many 
thanks!  Who  drudges  more  than  I  do?  The  whole 
night  in  the  water!  Those  accursed  policemen 
played  a  trick  on  me!" 

"They  caught  you?" 

"That's  nothing.  They  made  a  fool  of  me,  mon- 
sieur le  maire.  No,  it  can't  be  called  anything  else. 
I  shall  never  forgive  myself  for  being  made  a  fool 
of " 

"What  happened?" 

"What  happened  is  that  those  policemen  laughed 


BETTER  THAN  STEALING  131 

at  me  all  the  way  up  and  down  the  river.  They 
were  half  a  mile  away,  and  I  could  still  hear  them 
roaring  with  laughter.  No,  I  never  knew  I  was  such 
a  dunderhead." 

"But,  come  to  the  point,  what  did  they  do  to 
you?" 

"Ah — the  villains!  Imagine,  monsieur  le  maire, 
it  was  just  before  daylight,  and  I  was  quietly  fishing 
below  the  mill  of  La  Rochette.  The  idea,  anyway, 
of  forbidding  fishing  before  sunrise!  Is  it  my  fault 
if  fishes  come  out  to  play  at  night?" 

"Well— what  happened?" 

"I  was  in  my  boat " 

"You  have  a  boat,  then?" 

"No,  monsieur  le  maire,  I  may  as  well  tell  you, 
for  you'll  know  it  to-morrow,  anyway,  that  it  was 
your  boat,  which  I  had  taken  from  your  dike  by  the 
big  pasture." 

"And  where  did  you  get  the  key?" 

"Ah — you  know — with  a  nail — and  there  is  no 

chain But  I  shut  everything  up  again  without 

damaging  the  lock.  I  should  not  like  to  give  you 
any  trouble.  I  washed  the  boat,  too,  where  the 
fish  had  left  it  muddy." 

"You  had  caught  a  great  deal  of  fish?" 
.  "No.     Ten   pounds,   perhaps.     I  had   only   just 
begun." 

"I  never  caught  that  much  fish  in  my  life.  How 
do  you  do  it?" 


132  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

"Oh — they  know  me.     As  I  was  telling   you, 
was  in  my — in  your  boat,  when  I  heard  those  d- 


policemen  calling  me.  'Hey!  Grelu,  come  ashore! 
We  are  serving  your  warrant  on  you!'  Well,  I 
landed,  of  course.  I  am  used  to  it.  We  chatted 
like  friends.  They  carried  away  my  fish  to  fry  for 
themselves.  You  won't  tell  me  there  is  any  jus- 
tice in  that,  will  you,  monsieur  le  maire?" 
"Is  that  the  trick  they  played  on  you?" 
"Oh,  no!  When  the  police  had  gone,  I  said  to 
myself:  'Now  I'm  fined,  I  may  as  well  go  on  fishing. 
I  shan't  be  able  to  pay  the  fine,  whether  I  do  or  not. 
So  I'll  stay.'  I  fished  and  I  fished.  I  was  doing 
first  rate.  I  was  happy.  When,  suddenly,  I  hear 
voices.  The  police  again!  Two  warrants  in  one 
night!  I  couldn't  have  that!  The  boat  was  giving 
me  away.  But  they  might  think  I  had  left  it  there. 
So  I  hide  in  the  water,  with  nothing  out  but  my  head, 
and  I  wait.  What  do  you  think  they  do?  They 
stretch  out  on  the  grass,  they  light  their  pipes,  and 
they  begin  to  talk.  They  had  got  lost,  the  idiots! 
And  finding  themselves  back  at  the  mill,  were  look- 
ing for  me  to  ask  their  way. 

"As  for  me,  I  was  none  too  comfortable  in  the 
mud.  Those  loafers  wouldn't  go  away.  When 
one  pipe  went  out,  they  lighted  another.  I  saw  there 
was  going  to  be  nothing  for  it  but  to  get  caught  again. 
Suddenly  one  of  the  men  says:  'Father  Grelu,' 
says  he,  'you  must  be  cold  in  there.  Come  and 


BETTER  THAN  STEALING  133 

warm  yourself  at  my  pipe.'  I  come  out,  all  covered 
with  mud,  and  I  shake  my  fist  at  him.  'If  you  serve 

another  warrant  on  me !'  says  I  to  him.  *A 

second  warrant?'  says  he.  'No  danger  of  that.  The 
law  prevents  it.  We  can  only  serve  one  warrant  in 
twenty-four  hours  on  the  same  person  for  the  same 
offence.  What!  You  didn't  know  that,  Grelu? 
And  that  is  why  you  stayed  in  the  water?  We  were 
just  saying:  "I  wonder  why  he  does  that?"  Ah, 
Father  Grelu,  we  are  sorry!  We  thought  you  knew 
better.'  And  they  laughed.  And  they  laughed. 
I  was  in  no  mood  for  laughing.  Did  you  know  that, 
monsieur  le  maire,  that  two  warrants  could  not 
be  served  at  once?" 

"No." 

"  Well,  I  know  it  for  another  time,  you  may  be  sure. 
And  now,  may  I  have  my  certificate  of  mendicancy, 
which  releases  me  from  liability  to  fine?" 

"Very  well.  Your  bath  might  have  given  you 
pneumonia.  How  old  are  you? " 

"Over  seventy.  No  harm  will  ever  come  to  me 
from  water." 

"Nor  from  wine,  eh?  It  is  funny,  all  the  same, 
to  be  giving  you  a  certificate  of  destitution  when  I  see 
you  so  often  at  the  tavern." 

"They  give  me  credit,  monsieur  le  maire.  I  pay 
them  in  fish.  It  is  better  than  stealing,  anyway." 


THE  GRAY  FOX 


XI 
THE  GRAY  FOX 

ATER    the    poacher    the    vagabond    has   the 
place  of  honour  in  the  disfavour  of  the  li- 
censed citizen.     A  man  without  an  abode 
inscribed  in  the  tax  collector's  book  comes  near  to 
being  a  man  without  a  country,  in  the  eyes  of  the 
bourgeois,  inclined  to  regard  the  land  of  his  fathers 
as  exclusively  what  one  of  them  has  frankly  called  it, 
"the  native  land  of  the  landed  proprietor." 

It  is  easy  to  pronounce  against  the  unfortunate 
nomad  the  withering  sentence:  "He  pays  no  taxes." 
No  taxes,  the  barefoot  tramp  who  halts  on  the  edge 
of  a  ditch  to  eat  his  succinct  meal?  I  defy  him  to 
spend  the  penny  just  tossed  him,  without  the  State 
stepping  in  between  him  and  his  poor  bite  and  taking 
a  portion  of  it  away.  How  can  he  be  fed,  clothed, 
and  warmed  without  the  State  making  its  existence 
felt  by  the  exaction  of  a  tithe?  Merely  tithes  levied 
upon  beggars  would  amount  to  a  considerable  reve- 
nue. The  beggar  takes  no  pride  hi  this  fact,  being 
carelessly  ungrudging  of  the  sacrifices  demanded 
by  public  duty,  and  this  very  modesty  does  him 
wrong,  for  under  the  pretext  that  he  is  of  no  social 

137 


138 

utility,  householders,  under-prefects,  army  corps 
commanders,  and  directors  of  the  Bank  of  France, 
all  unite  in  imputing  to  him  most  of  the  evils  from 
which  they  are  supposed  to  protect  us. 

In  country  places,  the  blame  for  whatever  happens 
falls  on  the  vagabonds.  Theft,  arson,  trespassing, 
who  could  be  guilty  of  these  offences,  if  not  the  home- 
less wanderers  going  over  the  roads  afoot,  when  all 
self-respecting  men  have  at  least  the  use  of  an  auto- 
mobile? What  trade  can  they  ply  but  taking  other 
people's  belongings,  seeing  that  they  have  nothing  of 
their  own?  Hence  the  execration  of  those  who  have 
belongings.  I  once  knew  an  old  philosopher  who 
maintained  that  it  was  better  to  throw  bread  than 
stones  at  them.  Ordinarily  stones  are  readier  to 
hand.  When  there  are  enough  of  them,  the  tramp 
gathers  them  into  a  pile  at  the  roadside  and  breaks 
them  for  honest  wages.  Never  for  a  moment  be- 
lieve that  any  one,  from  the  President  of  the  Re- 
public down  to  the  road  mender,  will  express  the 
slightest  gratitude  to  him.  Like  Timon  of  Athens,  he 
expects  nothing  from  human  kind. 

And  yet,  his  defence,  should  he  take  the  trouble 
to  make  one,  would  not  be  lacking  in  interest. 
Lost  sentinel  of  the  army  of  labour,  he  might  relate 
strange  adventures  in  the  industrial  warfare,  no 
less  cruel  than  the  other  warfare.  He  might  find 
it  difficult  to  deny  a  share  of  shortcomings  on 
his  side — but  what  of  the  consciences  of  "the 


THE  GRAY  FOX  139 

righteous,"  oftentimes,  if  one  could  see  them  in 
nakedness? 

Humanity  means  weakness.  If  the  vagabond  can 
own  as  much  for  himself,  he  can  bear  witness  to  the 
same  in  the  case  of  others.  Oftener,  perhaps,  than 
is  generally  believed,  for  peasants,  like  city  people, 
are  tempted  by  their  neighbours'  property,  and  as 
the  caught  thief  always  accuses  some  unknown  per- 
sonage of  the  crime  attributed  to  him,  the  vagabond 
is  in  all  countries  the  easy  expiatory  victim  of  "the 
respectable." 

Something  of  the  kind  happened  in  the  affair  of 
the  "Gray  Fox,"  which  once  upon  a  time  set  my 
village  in  uproar.  At  that  distant  date  one  of  the 
notables  of  the  hamlet,  a  locksmith  by  trade,  who 
had  "inherited  property,"  was  Claude  Guillorit. 
Without  vanity  in  his  Roman  Emperor's  name,  he 
carried  it  with  the  quiet  dignity  of  a  man  whose  fu- 
ture is  assured.  He  was  a  "scholar,"  incredibly 
learned  in  the  accumulation  of  miscellaneous  facts 
which  almanacs  spread  even  in  the  remotest 
districts.  He  quoted  proverbs,  was  full  of  strange 
saws,  foretold  the  future — approximately.  He  was 
to  be  met  with  by  night,  carrying  a  large  basket,  in 
search  of  simples,  which  have  special  virtues  when 
gathered  after  sundown.  He  brewed  philters  for  the 
benefit  of  man  and  beast,  and  cured  fevers,  I  must 
admit,  more  easily  than  he  did  locks. 

For,  in  spite  of  his  explicit  locksmith's  sign,  locks 


140  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

were  wrapped  in  mystery  for  Claudit — so  called 
"for  short."  Village  housewives,  whose  furniture 
knows  not  intricate  locks,  are  at  the  end  of  their 
resources  when  they  have  cleaned  the  rust  off  their 
keys,  or  smeared  a  creaky  lock  with  oil.  If  the  evil 
persisted,  in  those  days,  the  cry  of  supreme  distress 
used  to  be:  "Go  and  get  Claudit,"  even  as  Na- 
poleon's cry  was:  "Send  forward  the  guard!"  when 
he  was  at  the  end  of  his  genius. 

Accompanied  by  a  formidable  clatter  of  ironware, 
a  little  slim,  spare,  sharp  man  would  approach,  with 
long  gray  locks  swinging  about  his  face,  after  strag- 
gling from  under  a  black  round  of  which  no  one 
could  have  declared  with  any  certainty  whether  it 
had  been  a  hat  or  a  cap  at  the  time  of  the  Revolution. 
But  it  was  not  his  headgear  that  held  the  eye.  What 
struck  one,  what  fixed  the  attention,  what  filled 
even  a  person  unacquainted  with  him  with  a  sort 
of  superstitious  uneasiness,  was  the  black  dart  of  two 
small,  lustreless  eyes,  which  entered  one's  very  soul 
and  stuck  there.  When  the  shaft  of  Claudit 's  glance 
had  pierced  one,  it  was  not  to  be  plucked  from  the 
memory.  The  man,  however,  did  not  concern  him- 
self with  the  impression  he  produced;  he  never  broke 
the  silence  except  from  necessity,  and  then  spoke  only 
of  things  pertaining  to  lock  mending. 

When  he  had  arrived  before  the  recalcitrant  lock, 
he  would  throw  on  the  ground — together  with  the 
great  basket  from  which  he  was  never  separated, 


THE  GRAY  FOX  141 

and  which  no  one  ever  saw  open  except  on  one  mem- 
orable occasion — an  iron  hoop,  whence  hung  an  ex- 
traordinary number  of  queerly  wrought  and  bent 
hooks;  then  he  would  kneel  down  as  if  in  prayer,  and 
apply  his  eye  to  the  keyhole.  After  a  moment  of 
scientific  examination: 

"Par dine!"  he  would  cry — it  was  his  favourite 
oath — "I  see  nothing  at  all." 

In  which  there  was  nothing  surprising.  Claudit 
seemed,  none  the  less,  to  experience  great  relief  from 
this  first  ascertainment.  Then  followed  questions 
regarding  the  piece  of  furniture,  what  was  its  his- 
tory, and  the  probable  age  of  its  lock,  then  groans 
over  the  wretched  work  done  in  olden  days.  And 
now  the  moment  had  come  for  the  diagnosis.  Every 
lock  may  be  afflicted  with  any  one  of  numerous  ail- 
ments. Claudit  would  enumerate  them  with  great 
erudition,  giving  his  client  his  choice  among  the 
various  evils. 

"It  may  be  that,  or  it  may  be  something  else.  I 
am  no  wizard.  We  shall  see.'* 

Thereupon  a  storm  of  hammerblows  would  beat 
upon  the  wood  and  the  iron.  The  cloudburst  over, 
the  key  would  function  no  better. 

He  would  have  to  resort  to  subtler  methods. 
Unperturbed,  Claudit  would  brandish  his  hoop 
with  the  pendent  hooks,  and  having  examined  each 
with  care,  would  select  one  and  insert  it  very  delib- 
erately, with  appropriate  contortions,  into  the  orifice 


142  THE  SURPRISES  OP  LIFE 

where  lay  the  seat  of  the  trouble.  Creakings  would 
ensue  beyond  anything  ever  heard.  Up  and  down, 
down  and  up,  from  left  to  right,  and  right  to  left, 
and  all  around  the  compass,  he  would  turn  and  twist 
and  rub  the  rusty  point,  would  force  it  to  the  ex- 
haustion of  human  strength,  and,  since  the  truth 
must  be  told,  I  will  confess  that  I  have  seen  locks 
which  under  this  violent  treatment  took  the  pro- 
visional course  of  behaving  themselves.  Claudit 
would  exhibit  no  pride.  Such  triumphs  of  his  art 
were  not  calculated  to  surprise  him. 

When  the  lock  seemed  to  be  entirely  bedevilled, 
Claudit  would  draw  from  his  pocket  a  two-penny 
knife,  the  blade  of  which  had  gained  a  saw-edge  fpom 
much  usage,  and  for  the  final  satisfaction  of  con- 
science would  do  what  he  could  by  "rummaging" 
with  it.  After  that  it  was  finished. 

"The  King  himself  could  do  no  more,"  he  would 
declare,  fully  assured  that  Louis  Philippe  would  have 
succeeded  no  better  than  he.  "If  you  like,  I  will 
make  you  a  new  lock." 

Do  not  imagine  that  the  manufacture  of  this  lock 
would  give  Claudit  any  great  trouble.  He  sent  to 
Nantes  for  his  locks.  He  unscrewed  one,  and 
screwed  on  another,  and  by  this  simple  perform- 
ance acquired  the  reputation  of  a  "skilled  work- 
man." 

A  little  forge  was  attached  to  his  house.  It  was 
littered  with  iron  junk.  But  no  man  alive  ever  saw  it 


THE  GRAY  FOX  143 

lighted,  so  that  hens  had  formed  the  habit  of  making 
their  nest  amid  the  cinders  of  the  hearth,  and  the 
white  gleam  of  eggs  was  pleasant  to  see  at  the  bot- 
tom of  the  crater  where  one  looked  for  glowing  coals. 
I  have  seen  as  many  as  ten,  for  Claudit,  owing  to  an 
extreme  love  of  poultry,  permitted  large  numbers  of 
hens  to  wander  at  will  about  his  dwelling. 

In  reality,  the  mending  of  locks  and  the  brewing 
of  healing  philters  were  merely  the  recreations  of  his 
life.  Its  passion  was  "the  little  hen,*'  as  he  tenderly 
called  her.  One  of  those  silent  passions  deeply 
rooted  in  our  inmost  being,  for  the  satisfaction  of 
which  the  Evil  One  besieges  us  with  temptations.  It 
is  certain  that  between  Claudit  and  the  gallinaceous 
tribe  obscure  affinities  existed.  On  Claudit 's  side  the 
sentiment  might  be  explained  by  an  appetite  for  tooth- 
some eating.  But  why  did  the  hen  feel  Claudit's  fasci- 
nation? Why  did  she  stand  there,  stupidly  motionless, 
fastened  to  the  ground  by  the  magnetism  of  that 
black  eye?  They  say  that  hypnotized  hens  will  drop 
of  themselves  into  the  fox's  jaws.  To  quote  Hamlet: 
"There  are  more  things  in  heaven  and  earth  than  are 
dreamed  of  in  your  philosophy." 

Curious  as  it  may  seem,  Claudit  was  not  the  only 
one  in  our  village  to  cultivate  a  fondness  for  poultry. 
From  time  immemorial  housewives  on  all  sides  had 
complained  of  missing  hens.  Everyone  blamed  it  on 
the  tramps,  who  were  never  there  to  answer  back. 
Claudit  more  than  any  other  suffered  from  these 


144  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

thefts,  and  bewailed  his  losses  at  every  street  corner. 
His  white  hen  gone,  his  black  hen  and  his  yellow  hen 
gone,  the  thieves  were  cleaning  him  out — and  the 
neighbours  got  Christian  consolation  in  their  misfor- 
tunes from  the  reflection  that  Claudit  was  even  more 
cruelly  hit  than  they. 

Claudit,  as  may  be  imagined,  was  on  the  lookout 
for  marauders,  but  in  vain.  One  day  he  saw  one,  but 
was  unable  to  catch  up  with  him.  It  was  a  bent  old 
man,  dragging  along  a  bag,  full  of  hens,  no  doubt. 
"A  regular  gray  fox,"  muttered  the  wronged  and 
indignant  Claudit. 

The  name  stuck  to  the  unknown.  His  description 
was  given  to  the  police,  and  a  warning  was  sent  out 
by  the  authorities,  against  the  despoiler  of  farms,  and 
chief  of  a  band  of  marauders,  known  under  the  name 
of  "Gray  Fox." 

One  day  Claudit,  on  his  way  home  from  a  heated 
battle  with  a  stubborn  lock,  was  crossing  the  village, 
when  he  stopped  at  sight  of  a  crowd.  An  aged 
tramp,  bent  double  under  the  weight  of  a  coarse 
canvas  bag,  was  struggling  with  the  rural  guard,  who 
had  found  him  lying  asleep  beside  a  ditch  and  was 
accusing  him  of  all  the  vague  crimes  reported  over  the 
whole  canton.  The  women  had  come  running  out  of 
their  houses,  and  each  of  them  had  some  accusation 
to  bring  against  the  malefactor.  One  hi  particular 
was  making  an  outcry: 

"My  cuckoo  hen  was  stolen  this  morning.    He 


THE  GRAY  FOX  145 

took  it!    Come,  now,  give  me  back  my  hen  and  go 
get  yourself  hanged  elsewhere!" 

"Ah!  So  you  stole  a  hen,  did  you? "  exclaimed  the 
rural  guard.  "I  knew  there  was  something  wrong." 

Then  addressing  the  crowd:  "The  bent  old  man 
with  a  bag  is  the  *Gray  Fox,'  isn't  he?  You  are  the 
' Gray  Fox,'  aren't  you?  You  may  as  well  confess." 

It  was  here  that  Claudit  arrived  upon  the  scene,  by 
good  luck,  for  having  once  seen  the  thief,  he  could 
identify  him  better  than  any  one  else.  Way  was 
made  for  him,  and  the  entire  village,  hanging  on  his 
lips,  waited  to  hear  what  he  would  say. 

"Pardine!"  said  Claudit,  scratching  his  ear,  "I 
believe  we've  got  him  this  time.  Yes,  yes,  I 
recognize  him.  He  is  the  'Gray  Fox." 

"Hoo — hoo!  To  prison  with  the  Gray  Fox!" 
howled  the  delirious  crowd. 

"Give  me  back  my  cuckoo  hen!"  screamed  the 
housewife. 

But  the  man,  not  in  the  least  agitated,  straightened 
up  and  said: 

"So  I  am  the  Gray  Fox,  am  I?  My  word!  You 
are  too  great  fools!  Often  enough,  from  the  other 
side  of  a  hedge,  I  have  seen  him  at  work,  your  Gray 
Fox.  I  know  him.  Do  you  want  me  to  show  him  to 
you?" 

?And  with  a  kick  he  overturned  Claudit's  basket, 
whence  fell  the  dead  body  of  the  much-lamented 
cuckoo  hen. 


146  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

The  entire  canton  still  echoes  with  this  spectacular 
stroke.  With  blows  and  kicks  the  Gray  Fox,  the 
real  one,  was  led  back  to  his  lair,  and  there,  in  a 
secret  cellar,  was  discovered  a  collection  of  stolen 
hens,  peacefully  awaiting  their  turn  to  be  cooked 
with  accompaniment  of  cabbage.  Everyone  recog- 
nized his  own  hen,  and  everyone  hastily  seized  it. 
Even  Claudit's  legitimate  hens  went  by  that  road. 
But  he  was  not  the  man  to  let  himself  be  despoiled 
in  silence. 

"  You  say  these  hens  are  yours ! "  he  cried.  "  I  know 
nothing  about  it.  I  am  willing  to  give  them  to  you. 
But  I  shall  let  nobody  steal  the  hens  that  belong  to 
me." 

And  before  a  week  had  passed,  Claudit  had,  by  the 
power  of  speech,  got  back  all  his  hens,  with,  it  was 
said,  a  few  of  doubtful  ownership  into  the  bargain. 

To  this  insistence  and  its  success  he  owed  a  return 
of  public  esteem.  But  when  a  lock  thereafter  re- 
quired his  attention  he  was  emphatically  bidden  to 
leave  his  basket  at  home. 


THE  ADVENTURE  OF  MY  CURE 


XII 

THE  ADVENTURE  OF  MY  CURE 

I  HAVE  had  no  very  consecutive  relations  with 
the  cur6  of  my  village.  Many  things  stand 
between  us.  Our  age,  our  occupations,  our 
ideas.  He  follows  one  path,  I  another.  Which 
does  not  prevent  our  occasionally  meeting  out  in 
the  country,  or  at  the  cross  roads.  We  exchange 
greetings  which  vary  according  to  the  time  of  day; 
we  occasionally  talk  of  the  weather,  as  it  is,  and  as  it 
should  be  to  satisfy  the  peasants.  In  the  crops  we 
find  yet  another  subject  for  a  brief  conversation. 
But  we  rarely  venture  beyond  this  circle  of  observa- 
tions. His  breviary  claims  him,  and  the  finger  mark- 
ing the  page  of  his  interrupted  reading  is  a  delicate 
hint  that  the  talk  had  best  be  brief.  I  have  par- 
tridges to  deliver,  and  must  not  linger,  either.  There 
is  a  slight  awkwardness  between  us,  even  in  saying 
good-bye.  I  am  anxious  not  to  say  anything  that 
may  offend  the  simplicity  of  his  faith,  but  I  always 
fear  one  of  those  somewhat  indiscreet  suggestions 
which  priests  regard  as  part  of  their  duty.  On  his 
side,  it  is  evident  that  he  dreads  my  so  far  forgetting 
myself  as  to  make  remarks  which  will  oblige  him  to 

149 


150  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

stand  on  the  defensive.  I  cannot  help  seeing  that  I 
am  an  incomprehensible  enigma  to  him,  whereas  his 
state  of  mind  is  not  in  the  least  puzzling  to  me.  How 
can  I  explain  this  mystery  to  him,  without  cruelly 
wounding  him?  We  therefore  part,  after  a  few 
conventional  words,  regretting  the  necessity  to  stop 
short  on  the  verge  of  a  conversation  which  tempts  us 
both,  and  aware  that  we  have  something  to  say  to 
each  other  which  we  shall  never  say.  To  his  last 
day  he  will  undoubtedly  regard  me  as  an  agent  of 
the  Devil.  And  on  my  side  I  can  only  silently  sym- 
pathize with  his  sorrow  in  the  recesses  of  my  mind. 

Abbe  Mignot  is  a  tall,  robust,  florid  Burgundian, 
whose  muscular  frame  seems  better  suited  to  field 
labour  than  to  the  unctuous  gestures  of  the  sacred 
ministry.  The  son  of  a  vintner,  he  had  begun  life 
as  a  plowboy,  when  an  aged  singer,  who  had  been 
a  great  sinner  while  she  trod  the  boards  of  light 
opera  in  Paris,  returned  to  her  native  village,  there 
to  acquire  spiritual  merit  by  good  works,  which  the 
remuneration  for  vice  out  in  the  world  enabled  her 
to  do.  She  reared  altars,  and  munificently  endowed 
them.  She  enriched  the  church  with  incomparable 
raiment.  The  pulpit  praised  the  zeal  of  the  excel- 
lent donor,  who  was  earning  Heaven  by  the  vir- 
tues belonging  to  old  age,  and  by  preaching  auster- 
ity to  others. 

One  day  this  saintly  lady,  in  quest  of  redemption, 
met  at  the  edge  of  the  village  a  dishevelled  boy  who 


MY  CURE  151 

was  subduing  the  fierceness  of  a  young  bullock  by 
the  aid  of  sounding  oaths  and  a  shower  of  blows. 
The  picture  seemed  to  her  beautiful,  even  though 
the  music  was  profane.  She  questioned  the  child, 
whose  precocious  adolescence  called  up  distant  memo- 
ries connected  with  this  same  muddy,  rustic  setting, 
and  being  suddenly  vouchsafed  light  from  on  high, 
she  conceived  the  plan  of  redeeming  her  very  earliest 
sin  (which  had  led  to  so  many  others),  by  means  of 
the  young  bullock  driver  who  seemed  to  her  on  the 
brink  of  perdition.  Providence,  and  not  chance, 
had  set  on  her  path  this  innocence  to  be  saved  from 
imminent  peril.  What  an  admirable  priest  the 
youth  would  make,  when  properly  scrubbed,  with 
his  great  clear  eyes,  his  blond  curls,  his  laughing 
insolence  of  a  conquering  hero!  So  the  sinner  who 
had  turned  away  so  many  souls  from  the  path  to 
Heaven  would  redeem  the  past  forever  by  leaving 
behind  her  an  authentic  servant  of  God,  to  keep  up 
the  necessary  expiatory  work  after  her  death. 

All  would  have  been  well  had  not  the  vintner  hung 
mightily  back.  His  son  had  cost  him  "a  lot  of 
money."  He  was  just  about  to  "bring  him  hi 
something"  now.  This  was  not  the  time  for  send- 
ing him  away. 

"If  he  goes,"  he  said,  "I  shall  have  to  hire  a  ser- 
vant. .  .  .  That  costs  a  great  deal,  counting 
his  food.  I  can't  afford  it." 

But  the  more  obdurate  the  peasant  was,  the  more 


152  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

obstinate  became  the  devout  lady  in  her  resolve  to 
accomplish  the  duty  laid  upon  her  by  Heaven,  as 
she  declared.  Negotiations  were  difficult,  for  Father 
Mignot  had  no  liking  for  "skullcaps,"  as  he  called 
priests,  and  a  double  argument  had  to  be  used:  one 
bag  of  money  to  repay  him  for  his  "pecuniary  loss," 
and  a  second  bag  to  allay  the  scruples  of  anticlerical- 
ism,  aggravated  by  the  circumstances.  And  this  is 
what  was  called  "The  vocation  of  Arsene  Mignot." 

More  than  twenty  years  later,  Abbe  Mignot  came 
to  us  with  the  remnants  of  his  family:  a  widowed 
sister  and  three  nephews  without  means  of  support. 
As  I  am  telling  nothing  but  what  is  strictly  true,  I 
have  to  admit  that  he  met  with  a  chilly  reception. 
The  old  cure,  whom  we  had  just  lost,  had  had  enough 
to  do  to  guard  his  eighty  years  from  the  heat  and 
the  cold,  and  to  quaver  out  his  masses.  Our  peas- 
ants are  not  fond  of  being  too  closely  questioned. 
When  they  saw  this  new  man,  still  under  forty,  car- 
rying his  need  for  action  into  their  very  houses, 
breaking,  from  one  day  to  the  next,  the  happy-go- 
lucky  traditions  which  had  made  his  predecessor 
popular,  they  silently  assumed  the  attitude  of  self- 
defence.  But  the  curS,  being  a  peasant,  knew  his 
peasants.  When  he  discovered  his  mistake,  he  had 
the  sense  to  change  his  course,  and  to  win  back  the 
discontented,  one  by  one,  without  noise  or  waste  of 
words. 

And  so,  our  village  would  have  had  no  story,  but 


MY  CURfi  153 

for  a  hospital  belonging  to  it,  and  standing  in  a  ham- 
let two  miles  away.  This  hospital,  privately  en- 
dowed, was  tended  by  four  nuns  of  I  know  not  what 
order.  Disease,  however,  never  marred  the  spot 
by  its  presence.  Against  the  express  wish  of  the 
founder,  a  school  had  been  established  in  it,  and  any 
sick  person  coming  to  ask  admission  was  told  that 
his  presence  would  be  dangerous  to  the  school  chil- 
dren, upon  which  he  obediently  went  to  die  elsewhere. 
Two  elderly  spinsters,  who  did  the  work  of  servants, 
figured  in  the  Sisters'  conversation  as  "our  incur- 
ables." By  this  means  they  were  entitled  to  retain 
the  inscription  on  the  wall,  announcing  that  hospi- 
tal care  might  there  be  obtained. 

Concerning  the  Sisters  themselves  there  is  nothing 
to  say.  They  taught  the  catechism,  sang  off  the 
key  at  mass,  and  made  a  great  show  of  zeal  toward 
the  one  they  called  "Mother."  Their  chief  enter- 
tainment was  luncheon  at  the  cure's  on  Sunday  after 
church.  A  sweet  dish  and  a  little  glass  of  Chartreuse 
crowned  this  extravagance.  Then  there  would  be 
much  puerile  chatter  on  topics  drawn  chiefly  from 
the  Religious  Weekly.  New  recruits  were  proudly 
enumerated,  eyes  were  rolled  heavenward  at  talk  of 
"apostates,"  and  the  latest  miracles  were  related 
in  minutest  detail.  A  touch  of  politics  occasionally 
spiced  the  heroic  resolution  to  brave  martyrdom. 
At  parting,  all  were  in  a  state  of  edification. 

The  trouble  was  that  Abbe  Mignot,  without  in- 


154 

come,  had  four  mouths  to  feed.  The  cost  of  the 
luncheon  could  not  be  brought  within  the  limits  of 
his  budget.  He  made  a  frank  confession  of  this  to 
the  "Mother,"  who  answered  haughtily  that  priva- 
tion was  the  luxury  of  her  estate,  and  that  the  Sis- 
ters would  uncomplainingly  return  to  sharing  the 
"bread  of  the  sick,"  at  the  hospital.  Her  words 
came  true,  for  the  very  next  week  there  was  a  patient 
at  the  hospital:  the  "Mother"  herself,  whom  an 
attack  of  erysipelas  carried  off  in  three  days.  The 
school  had  to  be  dismissed  and  everything  scienti- 
fically disinfected,  before  the  scholars  could  return. 
This  duty  fell  upon  the  new  Mother,  a  charming 
young  nun,  whose  beautiful  eyes,  gentle  speech, 
and  affable  manners,  created  a  sensation  in  the 
countryside. 

Mother  Rosalie  was  gifted  with  a  beautiful  so- 
prano voice,  which  proved  to  be  a  source  of  divine 
refreshment  to  Abbe  Mignot,  who  was  fond  of  play- 
ing the  organ.  There  can  be  no  music  without 
work.  Work  at  then*  music  threw  the  Mother  and 
the  cur&  together.  And  as  one  study  leads  to  an- 
other, the  visits  of  Mother  Rosalie  to  Abbe  Mignot 
came  to  be  fairly  frequent.  Presently  there  was 
gossip,  and  after  a  time  what  had  at  first  been  a 
playful  buzzing  became  rumblings  of  scandal.  Is 
it  credible?  The  first  threat  of  a  storm  came  from 
the  three  Sisters  at  the  hospital.  These  old  maids, 
who  had  until  that  moment  been  totally  insignificant, 


MY  CURE  155 

felt  surging  in  them,  of  a  sudden,  an  irrepressible 
wave  of  spleen,  intensified  and  again  intensified  by 
the  acid  of  celibacy.  Although  touched  in  a  sensi- 
tive spot  by  the  discontinuance  of  luncheon  at  the 
rectory  on  Sundays,  sole  amusement  of  their  lives, 
they  had  made  no  sign.  But  the  moment  their  one- 
time host  laid  himself  open  to  criticism,  the  hurricane 
burst,  and  the  flood  of  heinous  words  came  beating 
against  the  very  walls  of  the  sacred  edifice. 

Nothing  can  be  hidden  in  a  village.  Life  is  car- 
ried on  in  broad  daylight.  The  ditches,  the  stones, 
the  bushes  have  eyes.  Everyone  knew  very  well 
that  Abbe  Mignot  and  "the  pretty  Mother,"  as  she 
was  currently  called,  had  never  met  anywhere  but 
in  the  church,  the  door  of  which  was  open  to  all. 
The  pealing  of  the  organ  and  the  pure  voice  rising 
to  the  rafters  ought,  it  would  seem,  to  have  counter- 
acted the  poison  of  malevolent  insinuations. 

"Certainly,"  said  the  peasants,  "they  are  doing 
no  harm,  as  long  as  they  keep  on  singing  ! " 

Occasionally,  when  the  organ  was  silent,  Mother 
Rosalie  knelt  in  the  confessional.  Busybodies,  sta- 
tioned behind  pillars,  considered  that  she  remained 
there  too  long,  and  that  she  confessed  oftener  than 
necessary.  This  was  all  that  any  one  could  find  to 
say  against  them.  I  did  my  best  to  defend  them, 
when  occasion  arose,  but  the  only  effect  of  my  plead- 
ing, I  fear,  was  to  give  more  importance  to  the  spite- 
ful words. 


156  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

Meanwhile,  Abbe  Mignot  and  Mother  Rosalie 
continued  happy  in  their  music  and  their  friendship. 
I  never  knew  Mother  Rosalie,  and  will  not  invent  a 
psychology  for  her.  We  exchanged  a  few  words  on 
several  occasions,  and  I  received  the  impression  of  a 
remarkably  refined  nature.  Whatever  I  might  say 
beyond  this  would  be  drawn  from  my  imagination. 
With  regard  to  the  Abb6,  the  reader  is  as  well  quali- 
fied to  judge  him  as  I.  Bound  over  to  continence 
by  an  adept  in  the  reverse,  he  resigned  himself  to 
inevitable  fate,  the  cruelty  of  which  he  had  recog- 
nized when  it  was  too  late.  Heaven,  chance,  or  des- 
tiny had  thrown  a  friendly  soul  in  his  path,  a  prisoner 
of  the  same  destiny.  He  surrendered  to  the  delight 
of  the  association,  happy  to  come  out  of  himself, 
to  give  a  little  of  his  life,  to  receive  something  of  a 
human  life  in  return,  and  to  feel  his  pleasure  shared. 
They  did  not  conceal  themselves,  having  nothing  to 
conceal.  This  seemed  to  them  a  safeguard,  under 
the  eyes  of  their  brothers  in  humanity. 

The  "scandal"  lasted  three  months.  One  fine 
day,  without  warning,  an  elderly,  hunchbacked  Sis- 
ter descended  from  the  coach,  and  having  entered 
the  hospital,  exhibited,  along  with  her  titles  as  the 
new  "Mother,"  the  order  to  "Sister  Rosalie"  to 
return  within  the  hour  to  the  convent.  Sister  Rosalie 
bowed  her  head  in  submission,  asked  whether  time 
would  be  allowed  her  for  one  leave-taking,  and  upon 
receiving  a  negative  answer,  retired  to  her  chamber, 


MY  CURE  157 

"to  pray  and  to  obey."  She  came  out  with  falter- 
ing steps,  and  departed  never  to  return. 

The  following  day  was  Sunday.  The  event  had 
been  kept  secret  for  the  sake  of  a  more  dramatic 
climax.  When  the  priest,  coming  before  the  altar, 
met  the  shock  of  the  sardonic  joy  twisting  the  lips 
of  the  hunchbacked  Mother  and  her  three  acolytes 
in  the  charity  of  the  Lord,  he  fell  a  step  backward, 
as  if  mocked  by  Satan  himself.  Pale,  shaken,  he 
was  unable  to  restrain  the  trembling  of  his  lips. 
The  thunderbolt  had  struck.  In  the  anguish  of  death 
he  retained  the  appearance  of  life,  and  must  play  the 
part  of  a  living  man.  By  an  heroic  effort  he  re- 
gained self  command.  Violently  the  Introit  rang 
out,  as  if  from  depths  beyond  the  grave,  and  in  it 
were  mingled  the  tragedy  of  the  man  and  of  the 
God. 

There  was  but  one  word  at  the  end  of  mass: 

"Monsieur  le  cur6  made  the  pretty  Mother  sing 
too  much.  She  has  gone  away  to  rest." 

Last  month  I  met  Abbe  Mignot  out  among  the 
rocks  of  Deux  Fontaines.  He  sat  with  knitted 
brows  at  the  foot  of  a  bush,  and  nervously  turned  the 
pages  of  his  breviary.  He  was  evidently  making 
a  desperate  effort  to  fasten  down  his  wandering  at- 
tention. He  did  not  notice  me,  and  had  not  my  dog 
run  up  to  him,  I  should  have  turned  and  walked 
away,  to  avoid  disturbing  him  in  his  lonely  struggle. 
When  he  saw  me  he  rose,  afraid  of  having  been 


158  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

caught  betraying  something  of  himself.  I  held  out 
my  hand  in  friendship,  and  this  time  I  would  gladly 
have  stopped  for  a  talk  had  I  not  seemed  to  read 
in  his  eyes  an  entreaty  to  pass  on  without  speaking. 
I  obeyed  the  silent  appeal.  But  yielding  to  an  ob- 
scure need — 

"Monsieur  le  curb"  I  said,  "y°u  ought  to  be 
careful.  There  are  snakes  among  those  stones. 
You  must  have  been  warned  before?" 

"Yes,  I  know,"  he  answered  in  a  muffled  voice. 
"This  place  is  infested  with  vipers — most  pernicious 
beasts,  Monsieur.  I  hope  that  on  your  side  you 
will  be  able  to  guard  against  them." 


MASTER  BAPTIST,  .FUDGE 


XIII 
MASTER  BAPTIST,  JUDGE 

WHAT  kind  of  justice  did  Saint  Louis  dispense 
under  his  oak  tree?  History  does  not  tell 
us  that  he  was  a  doctor  of  law.  Everything 
leads  us  to  suppose  that  he  owed  extremely  little  if 
anything  at  all  to  Papinian,  Ulpian,  or  Tribonian- 
He  was,  of  course,  a  Saint,  and  those  among  us  chosen 
by  Providence  to  make  Its  Supreme  Will  known 
receive  appropriate  inspiration  from  on  high.  King 
Solomon,  like  other  Asiatic  kings,  who  are  by  their 
people  regarded  as  mouthpieces  of  divine  wisdom, 
consulted  no  text  when  he  spoke  the  famous  judgment 
upon  which  his  glory  still  rests. 

Jews  or  Christians,  the  ancient  leaders  of  the  peo- 
ple judged  in  equity,  and  without  too  great  difficulty 
arrived  at  an  approximate  justice,  superior  to  the 
"judgments  of  God,"  which  had  too  often  what 
looked  like  the  iniquitous  unfairness  of  chance. 
Codes,  by  their  inflexible  rules  applied  to  every  case, 
have  overthrown  the  ancient  order,  under  which  an 
arbitrary  procedure  fitted  the  law  to  each  individual 
transgression.  Laws  and  judges  have  since  become 
more  flexible,  they  would  otherwise  be  intolerable, 

161 


162  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

but  they  are  still  too  rigid  to  bend  felicitously  to  the 
modifications  by  which  natural  right  might  be  pro- 
moted. In  addition  to  which,  gratuitous  "justice" 
not  infrequently  ruins  the  person  seeking  it. 

For  all  these  reasons — fear  of  the  law,  which 
pounces  upon  poor  people  they  know  not  whence, 
fear  of  the  hardened  judge  who  refers  the  case  to  his 
learning  rather  than  to  his  conscience — our  peasants 
in  Western  France  with  difficulty  make  up  their 
minds  to  set  in  motion  the  so-called  "protective" 
machinery  of  the  law.  Even  the  settlement  of  a 
dispute  before  a  justice  of  the  peace  seems  an  ex- 
treme measure,  and  they  have  recourse  to  it  only 
under  great  stress,  which  is  a  matter  for  rejoicing, 
for  such  is  the  "social  order,"  that  without  this  for- 
tunate tendency,  mankind,  being  entirely  composed 
of  people  who  complain,  or  have  reason  to  com- 
plain, law  courts  would  need  to  be  made  big  enough 
to  accommodate  the  entire  human  race. 

In  the  country,  sources  of  disagreement  abound. 
The  limb  of  a  tree  stretching  beyond  a  fixed 
boundary,  a  vagrant  root,  a  fruit  dropping  on  the 
wrong  side  of  a  hedge,  the  use  of  a  stream,  a  right  of 
way,  may  bring  up  interpretations  of  customs  giving 
to  conflicting  interests  occasion  for  dispute.  Before 
coming  to  the  last  expedient  of  going  to  law,  quarrels, 
insults,  and  blows  perform  their  office  of  preparing 
the  way  for  reconciliation,  which  eventually  results 
from  nervous  or  muscular  exhaustion.  A  good  hand- 


MASTER  BAPTIST,  JUDGE  163 

to-hand  fight  would  constitute  a  "judgment  of  God" 
not  without  its  merits,  but  for  the  temptation  to  "  ap- 
peal" by  nocturnal  reprisals  on  innocent  crops. 

All  that  might  take  one  very  far.  Which  is  the 
reason  why  we  often  find  in  country  districts  certain 
natural-born  arbiters,  who  bear  the  same  relation  to 
judges  that  sorcerers  do  to  doctors.  The  judge  is  the 
Hippocrates  of  social  maladies,  even  as  the  physician 
is  the  judge  of  physiological  disorders.  The  power  to 
judge  and  the  power  to  heal  are  acquired  by  some 
mysterious  method  concerning  which  rustic  clients 
and  patients  have  very  misty  notions.  Judge  and 
physician  often  make  mistakes,  and  these  create  in 
men's  minds  a  dismay  greater  than  the  comfort 
induced  by  their  most  authentic  successes. 

Is  even  learning  absolutely  necessary  to  make  one 
competent  to  judge  and  to  heal?  In  olden  days  this 
ability  was  a  gift  from  heaven,  a  matter  exclusively 
of  divine  inspiration,  which  invested  a  man  with  the 
requisite  faculties.  Why  should  it  no  longer  be  the 
same?  The  peasant's  slow  wit  still  clings  to  the  old 
conceptions  and  retains  the  imprint  of  past  beliefs. 
He  therefore  prefers  the  wizard  to  the  doctor,  whom 
science  has  stripped  of  the  prestige  of  mysteriousness. 
In  the  same  way,  he  prefers — rather  than  to  seek  ad- 
vice from  competent  sources — to  consult  concerning 
his  rights,  or  the  conduct  of  his  affairs,  one  of  his 
own  sort,  totally  ignorant,  and  playing  the  part  of 
doctor  of  law  from  inspiration. 


164  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

I  once  knew,  long,  long  ago,  alas,  one  of  these 
improvised  Solomons,  whose  reputation  for  legal 
knowledge  had  spread  from  parish  to  parish  over  a 
considerable  area  of  the  Woodland  of  the  Vendee. 
Baptist  Merian,  better  known  by  the  name  of  Master 
Baptist,  was  a  peasant  of  uncouth  appearance,  who 
personally  looked  after  the  property  apportioned  to 
him  by  heaven  and  the  inheritance  laws.  He  was  a 
big  fellow  whose  once-powerful  muscles  were  be- 
coming overlaid  with  fat  as  he  neared  his  seventieth 
year,  the  period  when  I  first  happened  upon  him  in 
the  exercise  of  his  functions.  His  purplish,  pock- 
marked face  very  nearly  concealed  in  its  fleshy  folds 
two  small  gray  eyes  which  pierced  an  interlocutor 
directly  through.  He  had  a  voice  of  thunder,  and 
the  gestures  of  a  thunderer.  He  had  the  imposing 
utterance  of  one  passing  absolute  judgments  on  men 
and  things.  He  was  like  Zeus  whose  frown  shook 
Olympus,  when  he  gave  orders  to  take  the  mare  to 
pasture  or  harness  the  oxen  to  the  plough.  And  yet 
he  was  at  bottom  a  timorous  spirit,  very  attentive  to 
the  suggestions  of  prudence,  and  careful  never  to 
push  any  matter  to  a  violent  issue. 

His  adversary,  whoever  contradicted  him,  was 
generally  called  a  "blockhead,"  and  when  Master 
Baptist  had  thus  pronounced  himself  nothing  re- 
mained for  the  sentenced  one  but  to  bow  his  head  in 
silence,  which  was  what  all  around  him  were  in  the 
habit  of  doing.  No  one  could  have  told  whence  he 


MASTER  BAPTIST,  JUDGE  165 

derived  his  legal  authority.  He  made  no  claim  to 
anything  so  contemptible  as  a  knowledge  of  the  law, 
for  he  could  scarcely  read,  and  with  difficulty  could 
sign  his  name.  He  was  none  too  pleasant  a  neighbour, 
and  had  on  various  occasions  started  lawsuits  which 
he  had  wisely  brought  to  a  close  by  a  more  or  less 
advantageous  settlement,  giving  as  his  reason  that 
the  judge  in  his  opinion  was  a  "blockhead."  The 
consideration  he  enjoyed  was  not  lessened  by  this, 
for  he  continued  to  speak  of  his  litigations  as  if  he  had 
won  his  cases;  it  was  even  noticeable  that  the 
magistrate  who  had  earned  that  unpleasant  epithet 
from  his  client  lost,  to  a  certain  extent,  the  respect  hi 
which  the  community  had  held  him. 

Master  Baptist  was  not  one  of  those  geniuses  who 
need  to  blow  their  horn.  Respectful  of  everybody's 
right  to  manage  his  own  affairs,  he  never  ventured  to 
offer  advice  to  any  one.  At  the  most,  if  he  saw  a 
field  which  did  not  carry  out  his  idea  of  a  proper 
rotation  of  crops,  or  a  field  badly  fenced,  or  an  animal 
in  poor  condition,  he  would  express  his  view  that  the 
owner  was  a  "blockhead,"  and  public  opinion  could 
do  nothing  but  record  the  condemnation,  from  which 
there  was  no  appeal.  Far  from  protesting  against 
Master  Baptist's  uniform  verdicts,  people  would 
at  the  least  disagreement,  the  first  difficulty,  come 
running  to  him  to  explain  their  case,  inquire  what 
their  chances  were  of  success,  and  often  beg  him  to 
arbitrate. 


166  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

With  great  dignity,  with  benevolence,  even,  he 
would  receive  these  visitors — if  it  were  winter,  by  the 
hearth  in  the  kitchen,  which  is  the  countryman's 
parlour;  if  warm  weather,  by  the  house  door,  a  few 
feet  from  the  black  drain  into  which  the  sink  emp- 
tied the  odoriferous  extract  of  culinary  operations. 
Comfortably  seated  in  a  quaint  semicircular  arm- 
chair, the  wool-stuffed  cushion  of  which  was  covered 
with  ticking,  he  would  listen  to  the  men  who  had 
come  to  consult  him  and  who  remained  standing,  cap 
in  hand,  while  they  told  then*  interminable  and 
tangled  stories.  When  they  stopped  for  lack  of 
breath,  Master  Baptist  would  ask  questions,  which 
usually  called  forth  prolix  replies.  Finally  he  would 
speak: 

"  Peter,  it  is  you  who  are  the  blockhead."  And 
Peter  would  have  no  choice  but  to  submit  to  John. 
Both  would  then  pull  their  blue  caps  over  their  ears 
and  sit  down  for  a  glass  of  white  wine,  which  by  a 
reversal  of  ancient  custom  constituted  the  fee  of  judge 
to  litigants.  Often  they  came  from  a  great  distance 
to  find  out  which  was  the  blockhead,  and  having 
found  out,  departed  content,  glad  to  have  ended  the 
quarrel  without  assistance  from  the  omniscient  bench. 

It  was  something  of  an  undertaking  at  that  time 
to  reach  the  out-of-the-way  hamlet  where  Master 
Baptist  uttered  his  oracles.  Now,  country  roads 
connect  "The  Pines"  with  the  rest  of  the  world. 
I  used  to  reach  it  in  those  days  by  way  of  the  rocky 


MASTER  BAPTIST,  JUDGE  167 

ridge  stretching  for  two  miles  between  Mouilleron-en- 
Pareds  and  La  Chataignerie.  "The  Rocks,"  as  the 
ridge  is  locally  called,  form  the  last  buttress  of  the 
Woodland  hills.  From  the  top  a  vast  wooded 
stretch  is  visible,  every  field  being  enclosed  by  a  belt 
of  tall  trees.  The  rocks  themselves  are  covered  with 
gorse  and  furze,  and  giant  chestnut  trees,  twisted  and 
gnarled  by  old  storms.  Suddenly  the  rocks  part,  and 
in  the  hollow  they  reveal  lie  meadows  enlivened  by 
the  song  of  running  water.  There  humble  huts 
group  themselves  in  hamlets,  concealed  by  the  high 
trees.  "The  Pines,"  Master  Baptist's  domain,  was 
doubtless  distinguished  in  former  days  by  the 
presence  of  a  pine  tree.  The  tree  disappeared  under 
the  axe  of  time.  But  a  cluster  of  houses  remains, 
sheltered  from  the  world  by  the  high  rampart  of 
"The  Rocks." 

One  day,  as  I  was  hunting  in  that  neighbourhood, 
I  suddenly  from  my  hill-top  perceived  the  roofs  of 
"The  Pines,"  before  anything  had  betrayed  the  fact 
that  a  human  habitation  was  at  hand.  The  strange- 
ness of  the  place,  as  a  place  to  live  in,  aroused  my 
curiosity.  I  had  met  Master  Baptist  at  Mouilleron. 
The  occasion  seemed  propitious  for  a  renewal  of  the 
acquaintance.  I  entered  a  courtyard  littered  with 
manure,  and  there,  behind  a  yoke  of  oxen  drinking  at 
a  trough,  I  discovered  the  master  of  the  house,  seated 
in  his  dooryard,  surrounded  by  his  poultry,  and  busy 
as  usual  dealing  justice. 


168  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

It  was  vacation  time.  Baptist's  son,  a  law  student 
at  Poitiers  and  a  prospective  notary,  was  cheerfully 
loading  dung  into  a  cart  (no  one  dreamed  of  calling 
upon  him  for  enlightenment),  while  the  unlettered 
father  learnedly  dispensed  the  law.  In  front  of  the 
solemn  arbitrator,  and  at  a  respectful  distance  from 
him,  a  man  stood  waiting  open  mouthed  for  the 
solicited  verdict.  With  a  kindly  wave  of  the  hand, 
Master  Baptist  motioned  to  me  to  wait  until  the 
audience  should  be  closed.  I  therefore  remained 
where  I  was,  and  watched  the  plaintiff — a  big,  gray- 
headed  fellow  who  was  mechanically  twisting 
between  his  hands  the  greasy  crown  of  a  brimless 
hat. 

"You  are  sure  that  all  you  have  told  me  is  true?" 
Master  Baptist  was  saying,  and  I  could  see  that  he 
was  inclined  to  apply  his  epithet  of  "blockhead"  to 
the  absent  party  in  the  dispute. 

"I  have  told  you  everything  just  as  it  is,"  answered 
the  other. 

"Then  you  may  tell  Michael  that  he  is  a  block- 
head. Be  sure  you  tell  him  so,  will  you?" 

"Yes,  Master  Baptist,  I  will  tell  him  this  very 
evening.  But  what  if  he  says  it  isn't  so?" 

"If  he  answers  that  it  isn't  so,  no  later  than  to- 
morrow you  will  have  notice  served  on  him.*' 

The  idea  of  sending  his  adversary  a  stamped 
document  seemed  to  fill  the  plaintiff  with  keen 

joy. 


MASTER  BAPTIST,  JUDGE  169 

"I  surely  will  serve  notice  on  him!"  he  gleefully 
exclaimed. 

Then,  scratching  his  head:  "But  suppose  he 
won't  have  notice  served  on  him,  what  then?" 

At  these  words  Master  Baptist  rose  on  a  gust  of 
excitement.  I  am  not  aware  what  his  idea  was  of  a 
man  "who  will  not  have  notice  served  on  him." 
But  the  case  manifestly  appeared  to  him  out  of  all 
measure  horrific.  An  agonized  silence  followed. 
Then  the  storm  burst. 

"If  he  refuses  to  have  notice  served  on  him,"  thun- 
dered Master  Baptist,  "you  may  take  your  two  hoofs 
and  give  him  a  couple  of  swift  kicks  in  the  shins." 

Everyone  heaved  a  sigh  of  rslief.  The  point  of 
law  was  solved.  The  plaintiff,  his  spirit  forever  at 
rest,  vigorously  fell  upon  his  judge's  hand  and 
pressed  it,  along  with  what  was  left  of  his  hat. 

"That's  it!  That's  it!  My  two  hoofs— I  will  not 
fail!" 

As  for  me,  I  was  filled  with  admiration  at  the 
point  chosen  for  giving  full  force  to  the  arguments  of 
jurisprudence — the  part  of  the  leg  where,  just  under 
the  skin,  the  tibia  presents  a  collection  of  nervous 
fibres  which  a  nimble  wooden  shoe  can  crush  against 
the  bone,  is  certainly  a  well -chosen  spot,  and  calcu- 
lated to  give  effectiveness  to  the  energy  of  the  oppos- 
ing party. 

The  white  wine  was  brought.  The  student  of 
law  left  his  dung  heap  to  come  and  clink  glasses. 


170  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

"All  the  same,"  said  the  good  client,  dropping  into 
his  chair,  "I  should  like  to  know  a  question  for  which 
Master  Baptist  would  have  no  answer." 

"Oh,  well,"  replied  the  judge,  modestly,  "one  sees 
so  many  things.  That  is  how  one  learns.'* 


THE  BULLFINCH  AND  THE  MAKER  OP 
WOODEN  SHOES 


XIV 


IN  CONNECTION  with  the  scandalous  conduct 
of  a  lady  pigeon  I  shall  presently  speak  of 
comparative  psychology  in  the  world  of  animals. 
The  capacity  of  animals  for  emotion  and  sentiment 
is  naturally  the  first  psychic  phenomenon  presenting 
itself  to  the  observer.  Their  manner  of  expressing 
the  sensations  received  from  the  exterior  world,  and 
the  impulses  resulting  from  those  sensations  con- 
stitute what  may  without  derision  be  called  the 
moral  life  of  animals,  leading,  just  as  it  does  in  the 
case  of  man,  to  the  best  adjustment  possible  between 
the  individual  organism  and  surrounding  conditions. 
Many  good  people  will  doubtless  be  distressed  by 
the  idea  that  morality,  in  which  they  take  such 
pride,  though  not  always  preaching  it  by  example, 
instead  of  falling  from  heaven  in  the  form  of  in- 
disputable commands,  has  its  roots  far  down  in  the 
animate  hierarchy.  If  they  were  willing  to  reflect, 
they  would  be  able  to  understand  that  undeniable 
analogies  of  organism  involve  a  corresponding  analogy 
of  function.  Nothing  further  is  necessary  to  show 

173 


174  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

the  high  significance  of  a  study  of  comparative 
sentimentality  and  the  morality  illustrating  it, 
determined  by  the  organism  that  the  great  mass  of 
living  creatures  have  hi  common.  The  amusing  side 
of  the  thing  is  that  the  majority  of  those  who  will 
cry  out  against  this  statement  will  in  the  same 
breath  speak  of  the  "intelligence"  of  animals,  and 
will  quote  some  story  about  a  dog  or  cat  or  elephant, 
without  suspecting  that  their  very  manner  of  present- 
ing the  problem  solves  the  question  of  its  principle, 
and  leaves  them  with  the  sole  resource  of  rebelling 
against  the  consequences  of  that  principle. 

But  it  is  not  my  intention  to  speak,  as  the  reader 
may  be  thinking,  of  Montargis'  dog,  or  any  other 
animal  known  to  history,  for  the  astonishing  proofs 
of  sagacity  he  may  have  given.  As  I  mean  to  relate 
a  very  simple  but  authentic  story  of  brotherly  love 
between  a  bullfinch  and  a  maker  of  wooden  shoes,  my 
subject  is  more  particularly  the  exchange  of  senti- 
ments between  two  species  of  animal,  a  phenomenon 
hi  which  the  kinship  of  souls  is  very  clearly  demon- 
strated. 

It  is  common  enough  for  man  to  give  affection  to 
the  animals  that  surround  him,  an  affection  gen- 
erally proportioned  to  the  service  he  expects  of  them. 
Disinterestedness  is  rarely  coupled  with  power. 

Man  having  made  himself  the  strongest  of  living 
creatures,  annexes  and  subordinates  such  animals  as 
he  needs  for  the  satisfaction  of  his  wants.  The 


THE  MAKER  OF  WOODEN  SHOES     175 

hunter  loves  his  dog,  but  if  the  latter  fails  to  retrieve, 
what  harsh  words  are  showered  on  him,  to  say 
nothing  of  blows,  the  danger  of  which  perpetually 
hangs  over  a  dog.  Friendship  between  man  and 
man  is  all  too  often  based  upon  arrangements  in  some 
way  profitable  to  both.  Is  it  surprising,  then,  if  an 
analysis  of  the  affections  of  the  more  elementary 
orders  of  the  living  hierarchy  explains  the  con- 
descension of  the  strong  for  the  defenceless  weak  by 
attributing  it  to  self-interest?  And  may  not  the 
devotion  of  the  weak  to  the  strong  arise  partly  from 
a  need  for  protection?  But  self -interest  does  not 
account  for  everything — whatever  utilitarian  phi- 
losophy may  say. 

I  once  knew  a  cock  whose  favourite  haunt  was  the 
back  of  a  Percheron  mare  in  the  stable.  It  may  be 
that  the  bird's  greed  relieved  the  quadruped  of 
certain  irritating  parasites.  But  why  did  the  cock 
never  turn  to  any  other  than  his  special  friend,  the 
mare?  And  why  would  any  other  fowl  have  been 
swiftly  shaken  off  her  back?  The  two  animals 
"took  to  each  other,"  that  is  all  one  can  say.  You 
should  have  seen  the  mare  look  over  her  shoulder 
with  beatific  eyes  when  her  cock  appeared,  and  seen 
him  stand  on  her  complaisant  rump,  flapping  his 
wings  and  crowing  triumphantly. 

I  say  nothing  of  the  animals  in  our  menageries, 
who  are  trained  to  tolerate  one  another  for  the 
astonishment  of  the  idle  spectator.  They  exemplify 


176  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

a  distortion  of  nature.  But  we  see  daily  very  strong 
attachments  between  cats  and  dogs,  who  are  natural 
enemies.  Is  the  dog,  whom  we  accuse  of  servility 
for  licking  the  hand  of  the  master  who  beats  him, 
above  or  beneath  the  dignity  of  friendship?  He  is 
certainly  not  moved  by  cowardice,  for  he  will  hurl 
himself  against  anyone  attacking  that  same  brutal  man 
of  whom  he  might  justly  complain.  Is  it,  then,  that 
the  forgiveness  preached  by  the  Gospel  is  easier  for 
him  than  for  us?  Are  dogs  more  "Christian"  than 
men?  That  would  make  obvious  the  reason  why 
men  often  misinterpret  dogs. 

We  cannot  deny  that  signs  of  altruism,  born 
principally  of  love,  manifest  themselves  on  all  sides  in 
the  animal  world.  The  defence  of  the  young  is  the 
commonest  instance  of  it.  The  courtship  of  the 
male  is  also  marked  by  exhibitions  of  generosity,  even 
as  it  is  on  the  Boulevard.  When  a  cock  finds  a 
worm,  does  he  not  summon  his  entire  harem,  and 
magnificently  toss  the  savoury  morsel  to  them? 

The  bullfinch  and  the  maker  of  wooden  shoes  who 
loved  each  other  tenderly  had  no  remotest  expecta- 
tion of  reward  beside  the  pleasure  of  living  and 
telling  then*  love,  each  in  his  own  language  at  first, 
and  later,  each,  as  far  as  he  could,  in  the  language  of 
the  other.  I  have  forgotten  the  shoemaker's  name, 
but  I  could  go  blindfold  to  his  house  on  the  main 
street  of  the  village  in  the  Vendee  where  I  used 
yearly  to  spend  a  happy  month  of  vacation.  I  can 


THE  MAKER  OF  WOODEN  SHOES     177 

see  his  white  sign  board  with  a  magnificent  yellow 
wooden  shoe  agreeably  surrounded  by  decorative 
additions.  I  can  see  the  little  door  with  glass  panes, 
giving  access  to  the  shop,  hardly  larger  than  a  ward- 
robe, where  rows  of  wooden  shoes  hung  from  the 
ceiling,  were  hooked  to  the  walls,  littered  the  floor, 
and  even  overran  into  the  street. 

The  little  court  behind  the  shop  has  remained 
particularly  vivid  in  my  memory.  That  was  the 
workshop.  There,  with  both  hands  clasped  around 
the  tool  that  flung  chips  into  his  face,  the  artist  would 
miraculously  draw  from  a  block  of  wood  braced 
against  his  chest  the  form  of  a  wooden  shoe.  Julius 
II,  watching  the  frescoes  of  the  Sistine  Chapel  as 
they  sprang  from  Michael  Angelo's  brush,  could  not 
have  been  more  impressed  than  was  my  youth  before 
the  prodigies  performed  by  the  shoemaker. 

He,  for  the  increase  of  my  pleasure,  seemed  to 
share  it;  he  accompanied  the  manoeuvres  of  his  adze 
with  commentaries  calculated  to  drive  well  into  my 
soul  the  particular  merits  of  his  work.  He  was  a 
poor,  pale,  thin,  fragile  being,  himself  carved  down 
as  if  by  an  adze,  rubbed  flat  and  hollowed  out  by 
sickness.  Folds  of  white  skin  below  his  hairless  chin 
trembled  when  he  moved.  His  eyes  were  of  no 
colour.  He  had  a  nasal,  far-away  voice,  like  that 
of  a  consumptive  ventriloquist.  I  never  knew  any- 
thing about  him.  I  do  not  believe  he  had  any  family 
— I  never  saw  a  petticoat  that  seemed  to  belong  in  the 


178  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

house.     All  day  long  he  worked  at  his  wooden  shoes 
without  a  word,  perhaps  without  a  thought,  happy 
in   his   little   friend   the  bullfinch    on   whom  were 
centred  all  the  emotions  of  his  existence. 

Although  I  have  forgotten  the  man's  name,  I 
remember  the  bullfinch's.  It  was  Mignon.  There 
was  nothing  to  make  him  look  different  from  the  rest 
of  his  kind.  As  you  entered  the  shop,  you  saw 
against  the  wall  a  large  cage  decorated  with  rude 
carvings,  on  which  the  shoemaker  had  lavished  all 
the  fancy  of  his  art.  In  this,  hopping  from  one 
wooden  bar  to  the  other,  was  a  little  bright  red  ball 
with  a  black  head,  lighted  by  two  jet-black  eyes 
gleaming  with  intelligence.  The  tiny  hooked  beak 
retreating  into  the  throat  did  not  appear  fashioned 
for  conversation,  yet  if  during  the  shoemaker's 
absence  you  crossed  the  threshold,  a  muffled  voice, 
which  seemed  to  issue  from  the  depths  of  the  walls, 
greeted  you  with  a  cry,  repeated  over  and  over: 
"Someone  in  the  shop,  someone  in  the  shop,"  etc., 
etc.  By  the  smothered  quality,  the  nasal  tone,  you 
recognized  the  master's  voice.  But  it  was  not  he 
who  spoke,  for  you  could  see  him  coming  from  the 
courtyard  with  his  mouth  shut,  while  the  sentinel's 
warning  continued.  It  was  the  bullfinch,  who  with 
unfailing  vigilance  stood  guard  over  the  rows  of 
wooden  shoes. 

For  Mignon  talked  like  a  "real  person,"  with  a 
dainty  articulation  much  clearer  than  that  of  the 


THE  MAKER  OF  WOODEN  SHOES     179 

most  accomplished  parrot.  The  shoemaker  had,  I 
suppose,  taken  him  from  the  nest,  and  taught  him 
from  tenderest  infancy.  In  close  association  with, 
and  under  the  suggestion  of,  a  mentality  which 
spared  no  pains  in  the  education  of  a  friend,  the 
bird  had  by  a  loving  effort  raised  himself  to  the  level 
of  the  man  who  had  lagged  behind  in  the  evolution  of 
his  own  race.  They  had  met  on  the  same  plane,  and 
both  having  capacity  for  affection  had  seized  upon 
each  other  with  atomic  grapnels  better  than  they 
might  have  done  had  both  been  human. 

To  please  his  friend,  Mignon  had  accepted 
articulate  speech  as  a  means  of  communication,  for, 
needless  to  say,  his  vocabulary  was  not  limited  to  the 
sentry  challenge:  "Who  goes  there?"  but  grew 
daily  more  extensive.  On  the  other  side,  which  was 
no  less  remarkable,  the  human  teacher  had  let  him- 
self be  taught  the  fluty  language  of  his  woodland 
friend.  When  the  shoemaker  wished  to  convey 
something  to  his  feathered  comrade,  he  would  break 
forth  hi  "twee-twees,"  accompanied  by  a  sort  of 
hoarse,  throaty  trill  whose  slightest  inflection  is 
comprehensible  to  all  the  bullfinches  in  the  world. 
They  had  thus  two  languages  at  their  disposal  from 
which  each  could  draw  according  to  the  inspiration 
of  the  moment.  A  strange  dialogue,  in  which  it  was 
often  the  man  who  said  "twee-twee,"  while  the  bird 
answered  with  dictionary  words. 

The  door  of  the  cage  always  stood  open.     But 


180  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

Mignon  loved  the  peace  of  his  home.  In  his  natural 
state  the  bullfinch  prefers  the  most  secluded  and 
silent  spot  in  the  forest.  His  character  is  both 
trusting  and  contemplative.  I  remember  once 
finding  a  nest  of  bullfinches  in  an  ancient  oak.  The 
father  and  mother  could  not  believe  that  I  was  an 
enemy.  They  perched  on  a  bough  at  hardly  more 
than  a  yard's  distance  from  me,  without  a  flutter  or  a 
note  of  alarm,  as  if  to  give  me  time  and  opportunity 
to  admire  their  little  ones.  They  made  no  sound 
until  my  departure,  when,  as  if  to  do  the  honours 
of  the  thicket,  they  uttered  farewell  "twee-twees." 
As  he  was  afraid  of  cats  and  dogs,  Mignon  never  went 
into  the  street.  The  shop  and  the  courtyard  were 
his  whole  domain,  with  the  cage  for  meals  and 
meditation. 

In  the  courtyard,  among  the  reddish  alder  logs, 
Mignon  would  come  and  go  with  evident  enjoyment, 
scratching  the  wood  to  whet  his  beak,  or  searching  it 
for  dainty  bits.  I  can  still  see  those  splendid  shafts, 
golden  yellow,  marbled  with  sanguine  red,  on  which 
the  bird  would  sometimes  stand  motionless,  swelling 
his  copper-coloured  throat,  or  at  other  times  hop  and 
flutter  and  cheep  and  softly  twitter,  to  win  a  glance 
or  a  silent  smile  from  his  friend.  Then  he  would  fly 
straight  to  the  shoemaker's  shoulder  and  peck  his 
face  and  say:  "Good  morning,  my  friend,  I  love 
you,  indeed  I  do.  Have  you  slept  well?"  The 
answer  to  which  would  be  given  in  human  "twee- 


THE  MAKER  OF  WOODEN  SHOES     181 

twees,"  until  the  neglected  wooden  shoe  recalled  the 
forgetful  workman  to  his  duty. 

Best  of  all  was  the  song  and  dance. 

"Come  now,  Mignon,  dance  the  polka  for  your 
friend." 

Mignon  would  stretch  himself  proudly  to  his  full 
height,  uttering  three  rhythmic  "twee-twees,"  and 
hop  from  one  foot  to  the  other,  keeping  perfect  time. 
He  seemed  to  enjoy  himself  hugely,  and  the  shoe- 
maker, who  supplemented  the  music  by  an  exact 
imitation  of  it,  expressed  boundless  delight  by  the 
contortions  of  his  colourless  face. 

A  childish  amusement,  some  will  say.  Yet  what 
is  more  important  than  loving?  And  if  we  love, 
what  matters  the  way  of  expressing  a  deep  mutual 
tenderness?  The  shoemaker  did  not  exhibit  his 
friend's  accomplishments  to  the  casual  or  the  in- 
different. The  desire  to  "show  off"  was  foreign  to 
these  two.  They  simply  lived  for  each  other,  and 
their  intimacy  behind  closed  doors,  far  from  jealous 
eyes,  must  have  had  exquisite  sweetness. 

I  am  aware  that  there  should  be  some  effective 
ending  to  my  story.  The  truth  is  that  I  know 
nothing  beyond  what  I  have  told.  The  maker  of 
wooden  shoes  and  the  bullfinch  have  remained  very 
much  alive  in  my  memory — the  end  of  the  episode 
has  escaped  it.  Did  I  go  there  one  day  and  not  find 
them?  Or  is  it  not  more  likely  that  I  ceased  to  go 
there?  It  was  all  so  long  ago ! 


182  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

I  am  certain  that  whichever  of  them  went  first  was 
not  long  survived  by  the  other.  At  least,  I  like  to 
think  so,  for  if  the  shoemaker  had  replaced  Mignon 
by  another  bullfinch,  or  if  Mignon  had  found  it  in  his 
heart  to  dance  the  polka  for  Brossard,  the  nailer, 
who  used  to  make  such  a  racket  on  the  other  side  of 
the  street,  I  should  lose  a  supreme  illusion  concerning 
the  heart  of  man  and  bird.  If  we  lose  our  faith  in 
man,  whom  experience  may  lead  us  to  suspect  of 
selfishness,  let  us  retain  our  respectful  esteem  for 
animals. 


ABOUT  NESTS 


XV 

ABOUT  NESTS 

CHILDREN  are  always  interested  in  nests — 
thrilled  by  the  mystery  of  them,  filled  with 
admiring  wonder  at  the  cunning  of  the  little 
feathered  creature  in  concealing  its  brood  from  the 
enemy,  whether  it  be  man  or  hawk,  crow  or  magpie. 
The  impulse  to  appropriate  any  living  thing  (an 
instinct  inherited  from  his  carnivorous  ancestors), 
indeed,  a  whole  collection  of  irresistible  impulses 
direct  the  murderous  sporting  instinct  of  the  future 
lord  of  creation  toward  the  delicate  feathery 
structure.  Sympathy  is  as  yet"  non-existent  in  the 
child  man,  for  he  has  never  suffered.  He  is  carried 
away  by  deli'ght  in  the  unknown,  his  eyes  widen 
with  wonder,  his  hands  reach  out,  and  at  the  first 
touch  irretrievable  harm  is  done. 

But  no  sooner  has  the  nest  been  torn  from  the 
branch,  and  no  sooner  are  the  little  ones,  hideous 
in  their  grotesque  nudity,  scattered  on  the  ground, 
than  he  is  filled  with  dismay,  like  the  school  boy  with 
all  the  parts  of  his  watch  spread  on  the  table  before 
him.  Having  looked  at  everything,  analyzed  it, 

185' 


186  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

touched  it,  he  could  go  his  way  with  a  light  heart 
if  only  he  were  able  to  fit  the  pieces  together  again, 
and  reconstruct  a  whole.  But  it  is  too  late.  Our 
first  impulse  is  a  death- dealing  one.  A  sense  of  the 
uselessness  of  destruction  is  necessary  to  awaken 
pity  in  us  for  whatever  has  life.  I  have  sometimes 
seen  those  very  school  boys  who  massacre  birds  for 
fun,  go  back,  ashamed  of  the  stupid  wrong  commit- 
ted, and  awkwardly  try  to  put  the  nest  in  its  place, 
with  the  little  ones  in  it,  then  go  away,  looking  over 
their  shoulder  to  witness  the  gratitude  due  to  them 
from  the  despairing  family  for  their  generous  effort. 
On  the  following  day  the  boys  return  to  look,  and 
find  a  graveyard. 

Many  birds  forsake  their  progeny  at  the  least 
break  in  the  usual  course  of  things.  Unaccountable 
panic  seizes  them,  abruptly  quenching  the  over- 
mastering love  that  before  had  governed  the  activi- 
ties of  the  pair.  If  you  merely  touch  a  young  pig- 
eon, the  parents  will  from  that  moment  onward  hear 
his  clamour  for  food  with  indifference — they  will 
let  him  starve,  while  the  drama  of  rearing  new  young 
dimly  takes  shape  in  their  mysterious  minds.  Other 
more  courageous  birds  will  fight  to  the  end  with- 
out yielding,  they  will  fly  into  snares  in  the  attempt 
to  reach  their  brood,  they  will  come  daily  to  feed 
their  young  in  the  cage,  and  if  a  strange  egg  has 
been  introduced  into  their  nest,  whether  by  the  hand 
of  man  or  the  cunning  of  the  cuckoo,  they  will  make 


ABOUT  NESTS  187 

no  difference  between  the  bastard  and  their  legiti- 
mate offspring. 

I  have  witnessed  some  fierce  battles,  notably  that 
of  a  pair  of  warblers  against  a  magpie,  who,  unde- 
terred by  the  stones  I  was  throwing,  managed  in  less 
than  five  minutes  to  remove  from  their  nest  into  her 
own,  as  a  treat  for  her  young  magpies,  all  the  little 
warblers  just  full-fed  with  succulent  insects.  Whither 
turn  for  help  against  the  rivalry  of  appetites  organ- 
ized by  Providence?  "The  reason  of  the  strongest 
is  always  the  best,"  sadly  observes  the  poet  philos- 
opher. A  sorrowful  avowal,  that,  which  leaves  us, 
for  sole  comfort,  the  hypothetical  felicity  of  another 
world.  But  what  could  be  more  unjust  than  to  ex- 
clude from  a  celestial  paradise  these  secondary 
creatures,  victims  of  our  common  fate,  who  in  the 
beginning  possessed  the  earthly  paradise,  and  were 
driven  from  it  in  the  company  of  our  erring  an- 
cestors, without  having  followed  their  sinful  ex- 
ample? 

Until  the  order  of  things  changes,  all  that  the 
weak  can  do  is  to  cry  out  their  protest,  their  vain 
appeal  to  universal  justice,  which,  deaf,  insensible, 
and  paralyzed,  sits  in  mute  contemplation  of  the 
disorder  composing  the  order  of  the  world. 

Man,  the  supreme  arbiter  of  the  destinies  of  his 
inferiors,  has  arrogated  all  rights.  The  child  who 
lets  a  bird  flutter  at  the  end  of  a  string  only  to  jerk 
it  to  the  ground  when  the  poor  creature  finally 


188  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

thought  itself  free,  lives  in  his  own  person  the  evo- 
lution from  the  frank  cruelty  of  the  savage  to  the 
decent  hypocrisies  of  civilized  barbarism.  Man  is, 
indeed,  the  first  one  whom  animals  learn  to  guard 
against.  Wherever  there  are  no  men,  or  few,  birds 
are  among  the  first  to  become  fearless.  I  have  seen 
nests  built  in  wide  recesses  and  fully  exposed  to  view, 
amid  the  desert  ruins  of  the  citadel  of  Corinth. 

Better  still,  I  once  knew — it  is  now  more  than  fifty 
years  ago — a  wonderful  garden,  in  part  cultivated, 
in  part  allowed  to  follow  the  fancies  of  vegetation 
running  wild,  where  two  old  people,  of  beloved  mem- 
ory, used  to  walk  and  take  their  last  pleasures  as 
life  neared  its  close.  A  large,  typically  French  gar- 
den, with  symmetrical  flower  beds  bordered  with 
box.  A  long  arbour  formed  a  wall  at  the  farther 
side,  and  had  at  each  end  a  circular  bower,  bright 
in  springtime  with  the  rosy  blaze  of  Judas  trees. 
In  the  centre  was  a  fountain  covered  by  a  high  white 
dome  upheld  by  three  slender  Ionic  columns,  deli- 
cately mottled  with  rose-coloured  lichens.  At  the 
summit  of  the  dome  the  sculptor  had  carved  a  vase 
of  formal  shape,  from  which  sprang  a  sheaf  of  flowers 
that  took  from  the  mosses  overgrowing  it  an  appear- 
ance of  life.  Under  the  arch  was  a  bird  with  spread 
wings,  bearing  the  motto  of  the  former  masters  of  the 
domain,  whose  name  you  will  find  in  Hozier:  "Al- 
tiora  contendimus  omnes."  The  monument  dated 
from  the  end  of  the  16th  century.  Its  remains, 


ABOUT  NESTS  189 

scattered  in  "artistic  ruins,"  now  decorate  an  orna- 
mental grove. 

Never  was  a  spot  less  disturbed  by  the  activities 
of  the  world,  nowhere  was  solitude  more  calculated 
to  win  man  from  his  fellows  and  leave  him  to  the 
companionship  of  trees  and  animals.  Beyond  ]the 
arbour  lay  a  meadow,  a  brook,  woods.  No  human 
habitation  anywhere  near.  Peace — the  great  peace  of 
nature.  Sheltered  by  the  high  wall,  animals  lived 
happy  and  unafraid  of  man,  from  whom  they  re- 
ceived only  kindness.  I  can  remember  goldfinch 
nests  among  the  rose  bushes  within  reach  of  my 
hand.  I  was  early  taught  to  touch  them  only  with 
my  eyes. 

In  her  very  bedroom,  the  lady  of  the  manor  gave 
shelter  to  swallows.  Traces  of  nests  may  still  be 
seen  on  the  great  rafters  of  the  ceiling.  In  spring, 
one  day  at  dawn,  the  travellers,  arriving  from  their 
great  journey,  would  come  tapping  with  beak  and 
claw  at  the  high  windows.  The  aged  dame  would 
immediately  rise  and  let  in  her  friends.  Greetings 
would  ensue — enthusiastic  greetings  after  the  long 
separation.  Three  or  four  birds,  sometimes  half 
a  dozen,  would  wheel  about  the  vast  chamber,  with 
little  sharp  cries  expressing  joy  in  their  return  and 
their  hospitable  reception.  They  perched  on  the 
great  wardrobes,  and  twittered  for  happiness,  their 
little  ruby  throats  swelling  below  then*  black  hoods. 
All  day  long  they  came  and  went.  Soon,  one  might 


190  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

see  a  swallow  drop  on  to  the  water  of  a  trench,  and 
rest  there  with  wings  outspread,  then  rise  into  the 
air,  and  gather  on  her  wet  feathers  the  dust  of 
earth  needed  to  make  mortar  for  her  nest.  Then 
began  the  work  of  masonry.  The  basket-shaped 
wall  rose  quickly,  formed  of  thin  layers  of  clay,  one 
above  another,  and  as  soon  as  the  nest  was  finished, 
an  indentation  fashioned  in  the  edge  by  the  dainty 
black  beak  informed  one  that  the  laying  of  eggs 
had  begun. 

Three  or  four  nests  among  the  rafters  became  in 
time  a  whole  aviary,  for  the  young  birds,  returning 
the  following  year,  often  selected  their  birthplace  as 
a  home.  There  they  reared  their  family.  At  first 
peep  of  dawn,  the  father  from  outside  and  the  mother 
from  inside  begged  to  have  the  window  opened. 
They  met  each  other  with  expressions  of  delight  and 
flew  skyward  in  quest  of  the  supply  of  insects  imperi- 
ously demanded  by  the  noisy  and  hungry  nestlings. 
As  soon  as  the  successful  hunter  appeared,  and  before 
he  could  fairly  get  his  claws  into  the  earthen  parapet, 
six  gaping  throats  were  outstretched  to  catch  the 
prey.  This  business  filled  the  day.  A  newspaper, 
spread  on  the  floor,  received  all  incongruous  happen- 
ings. In  the  evening,  when  the  lamp  was  lighted, 
we  were  sometimes  startled  by  a  sudden  outburst  of 
quarrelling  up  among  the  rafters.  It  might  be  that 
a  small  bird  was  out  of  his  customary  place,  and 
was  beginning  his  apprenticeship  in  life  by  defending 


ABOUT  NESTS  191 

his  rights,  as  well  as  he  could,  against  the  selfish 
infringements  of  an  enterprising  brother.  A  muf- 
fled call  from  the  mother  stilled  the  tumult,  and  fear 
of  punishment  brought  the  children  back  to  modera- 
tion, or  perhaps  resignation.  And  then  autumn  took 
on  the  sharpness  of  winter,  and  all  the  swallows,  as- 
sembled on  the  summit  of  a  neighbouring  elm,  held 
a  great  council  of  departure.  They  talked  the  whole 
day.  But  their  discussion,  unlike  ours,  was  a  preface 
to  action.  They  started  before  sunrise  of  the  day 
after.  Sadly  their  old  friend  bade  them  farewell: 
"Go,  my  dear  ones,  you  intend  to  come  back,  but 
the  time  is  not  far  when  I  shall  no  longer  be  here 
to  open  the  window  at  your  home  coming!"  The 
swallows  still  return.  But  for  a  long  time,  a  very 
long  time,  the  window  has  not  been  opened. 

Alas!  the  loveliest  part  of  the  setting  has  like- 
wise disappeared.  The  white  dome  of  the  fountain^ 
with  its  rosy  colonnade,  has  been  broken  up,  and  re- 
placed by  a  hideous  rockery  in  the  style  of  Chatou. 
The  seemly  classic  rectangular  flower  beds,  with 
their  severe  arrangement,  have  made  room  for  a 
wide  lawn  dotted  with  artistic  plots  of  shrubbery. 
The  long  arbour  and  the  Judas  trees  have  blazed  in 
the  fireplace  on  winter  evenings.  But,  near  or  far, 
imagination  can  restore  them.  I  find  myself  walk- 
ing through  twisted  underbrush  to  spy  upon  domestic 
scenes  in  nests.  I  have  retained  a  particularly  vivid 
memory  of  the  tragedy  which  revealed  to  me  for 


192  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

the  first  time  the  distressing  vicissitudes  of  the  strug- 
gle for  life. 

At  the  foot  of  the  long  arbour  lay  a  dying  birdling. 
He  had  as  yet  no  feathers,  but  a  thin  black  down 
covered  his  bluish  skin  now  painfully  heaving  with 
the  last  spasms  of  agony.  My  first  motion  was  to 
climb  in  search  of  the  nest  from  which  the  victim  had 
fallen.  I  had  not  mounted  a  yard  from  the  ground 
before  I  found  a  little  dead  body  similar  to  the  one 
I  had  just  seen,  and  while  I  peered  upward  into  the 
shadow,  what  should  tumble  on  to  my  head  but 
a  third  member  of  the  same  brood.  I  finally  dis- 
tinguished the  nest,  and  soon  little,  stifled  cries 
warned  me  of  something  going  on  in  it.  I  bent  to 
one  side,  to  get  a  better  view,  and  discovered  in 
the  midst  of  the  down-lined  dwelling  a  great  grayish 
black  bird  surrounded  by  three  wretched  wee  ones 
who  had  not  as  yet  been  tossed  into  the  abyss,  but 
who  were  rendered  miserably  uncomfortable  by  the 
inordinate  growth  of  their  big  brother. 

A  cuckoo  had  deposited  her  egg  there,  and  the 
parents,  stupidly  deceived,  lavishing  the  same  care 
upon  the  intruder  as  upon  their  own  young,  had  suc- 
ceeded only  in  absurdly  favouring  the  strongest. 
Meanwhile,  he  had  grown  to  twice  or  thrice  the  size  of 
his  "brothers,"  and  without,  presumably,  seeking  any 
satisfaction  but  his  "liberty,"  as  the  economists  put  it, 
he  was  taking  up  the  room  of  others,  for  the  sole  rea- 
son that  the  development  of  his  organs  required  it. 


ABOUT  NESTS  193 

Like  all  young  birds,  the  baby  cuckoo  automati- 
cally flapped  his  wings,  to  exercise  his  joints.  In  a 
normal  nest,  this  movement  of  each  inmate  is  lim- 
ited and  regulated  by  the  same  movement  on  the 
part  of  the  others.  But  here,  too  great  strength 
was  in  conflict  with  too  great  weakness,  and  the 
cuckoo's  thick,  stumpy  wings,  on  which  feathers  were 
already  appearing,  spread  to  the  very  edge  of  the 
nest,  lifting  the  feeble  little  ones  on  to  the  monster's 
back,  whence  a  shake  flung  them  overboard.  The 
crime  occurred  even  while  I  watched.  The  worst 
of  it  was  seeing  the  stupid  parents,  in  spite  of  all, 
diligently  feeding  the  infamous  fratricide.  Careless 
of  the  lamentations  of  their  own  children,  they  could 
see  in  the  nest  only  the  huge  hollow  of  a  voracious 
beak,  which  gobbled  whatever  they  brought,  not- 
withstanding the  timid  efforts  of  the  competitors, 
doomed  beforehand  to  defeat.  And  so  the  dispro- 
portion in  growth  augmented  daily,  the  one  taking 
everything,  and  the  others  condemned  to  watch 
him  helplessly.  The  social  question  is  repeated  in 
every  thicket  on  earth ! 

For  the  principle  of  Hie  thing,  I  replaced  two  little 
birds  in  the  nest.  They  were  promptly  hurled  to 
the  ground.  Next  day,  the  whole  crime  was  accom- 
plished, and  the  false  father  and  the  false  mother 
were  still  idiotically  wearing  themselves  out  to  nour- 
ish their  children's  murderer.  What  to  do  about  it? 
How  many  human  stories  there  are,  in  the  likeness  of 


194  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

that  incident!  One  cannot  even  justly  blame  the 
cuckoo,  if  the  great  principle:  "Remove  yourself, 
that  I  may  have  your  place!"  remains  in  this  uni- 
verse the  watchword  added  by  Providence  to  the  ex- 
press recommendation  to  love  one  another. 


A  DOMESTIC    DRAMA 


XVI 
A  DOMESTIC  DRAMA 

I  AM  fond  of  observing  animals,  real  ones,  whose 
spirit  has  not  been  perverted  by  the  insuffer- 
able pretence  and  affectations  which  are  all  too 
often  accompaniments  of  the  human  form.  Who- 
ever watches  them  with  a  seeing  eye  may  gather 
deep  lessons  from  the  activities  of  animal  life.  In 
man  and  beast  the  motions  of  being  are  governed  by 
one  philosophy,  however  much  trouble  the  sacristans 
of  letters  may  take  to  separate  under  the  heads  of 
"instinct"  and  "thought"  phenomena  differing  in 
degree  but  identical  in  nature. 

Analogies  of  structure  and  function  in  the  entire 
hierarchy  of  the  organic  world  were  one  day  per- 
ceived, and  Lamarck  and  Darwin  drew  from  these 
their  well-known  conclusions,  to  the  confusion  of 
biblical  tradition.  Comparative  anatomy  and  com- 
parative physiology  are  now  flourishing  sciences  of 
which  academicians  find  it  less  easy  to  assimilate  the 
results  than  to  proclaim  the  failure.  At  the  point 
we  have  reached  in  the  knowledge  of  vital  manifes- 
tations all  along  the  scale  of  living  creatures,  unlim- 
ited material  is  day  by  day  accumulating  for  the 

197 


198  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

science  of  comparative  psychology  which  will  soon 
be  established. 

While  experts  are  elaborating  general  laws,  the 
profane  may  be  permitted  to  set  down  the  observa- 
tions suggested  to  them  by  the  passing  show  of  life. 
In  this  character  I  wish  to  relate  a  domestic  drama 
the  scene  of  which,  I  grieve  to  say,  was  my  own  gar- 
den. The  actors,  fair  readers,  were  simple  pigeons. 
The  difference  between  feathers  and  hair  will  per- 
haps seem  to  you  to  excuse  many  things.  You 
shall  compare  and  judge.  My  only  ambition  is  to 
point  out  analogies  resulting  from  the  nature  of 
things,  and  lead  such  of  my  contemporaries  as  do  me 
the  honour  to  read  what  I  write,  to  a  wider  compre- 
hension of  the  human  soul. 

Our  natural  tendency  is  to  observe  the  thoughts 
and  feelings  of  our  equals  rather  than  those  of  ani- 
mals. They  touch  us  more  nearly,  and  we  often 
need,  in  the  course  of  our  study  of  humanity,  to  bal- 
ance the  indulgence  of  our  judgments  upon  ourselves 
by  the  severity  of  our  judgments  upon  others.  Only, 
man  under  observation  has  the  advantage  of  articu- 
late speech,  which  is,  of  course,  a  disadvantage  to 
the  observer.  For  everyone  will  agree  that  man 
makes  use  of  this  chiefly  to  pervert,  to  conceal,  or  at 
the  very  least  to  disguise,  the  truth.  Hence  arise  dif- 
ficulties of  analysis,  which  are  not  encountered 
among  the  innocent  beasts  of  the  field  whom  the 
imperfection  of  their  organism  obliges  to  show  them- 


A  DOMESTIC  DRAMA  199 

selves  as  nature  made  them.  In  defining  the  char- 
acteristics of  man,  it  has  been  said  that  he  alone 
among  animals  is  gifted  with  laughter,  with  ability 
to  light  a  fire,  and  to  state  abstractions  by  means  of 
articulate  speech.  We  must  not  neglect  to  mention 
his  conspicuous  faculty  for  lying.  Animals  can  dis- 
simulate, for  the  purpose  of  seizing  the  weaker,  or 
escaping  from  the  stronger.  Man  alone  has  received 
from  Providence  the  gift  of  a  perfect  mendacity. 
So  he  often  disparages  animals,  and  accuses  them  of 
cynicism!  Ah — if  dogs  could  speak! 

But  this  tale  is  concerned  with  pigeons,  and  when 
I  tell  you  that  sitting  at  my  work  table  I  have  my 
dovecote  all  day  under  my  eyes,  you  will  under- 
stand that  I  am  necessarily  familiar  with  the  ma- 
noeuvres of  the  amorous  tribe.  The  pigeon  has  a 
reputation  for  sentimentality.  He  is  inclined  toward 
voluptuousness,  and  has  officially  but  one  mate. 
His  fidelity  has  been  sufficient  to  arouse  the  wonder 
of  man.  Poetry,  music,  and  art,  after  long  centuries, 
still  find  a  rich  subject  in  the  attachment  of  turtle 
doves. 

"Two  pigeons  loved  with  a  tender  love " 

It  is  still  usual  for  the  fruit  vender  in  Rue  St. 
Denis,  swooning  in  the  conjugal  arms,  to  call  her 
spouse  "My  pigeon!"  and  for  him  to  answer  in  a 
sigh,  "My  dove!"  Well — at  the  risk  of  bringing 
disillusion  to  these  ingenuous  souls,  and  driving  them 
to  search  for  other  comparisons,  I  feel  obliged  to  es- 


200  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

tablish  facts  in  their  truth,  and  show  pigeons  guilty 
of  human  frailty. 

The  ones  whose  story  it  is  my  sad  duty  to  record 
were  two  big  blue  "Romans,"  united  by  the  most 
demonstrative  tenderness.  They  had  no  other  occu- 
pation than  to  bill  and  coo  all  day  long.  After  their 
eggs  had  been  laid,  they  took  turns  at  sitting  on 
them,  each  for  half  a  day  at  a  time — and  as  soon  as 
the  little  ones  had  their  first  feathers,  returned  to 
their  ardent  lovemaking. 

One  day  I  perceived  on  a  chestnut  tree  belonging 
to  me  a  big  white  pigeon  who  seemed  to  find  the 
neighbourhood  to  its  liking.  After  a  few  short 
turns  about  the  place,  the  newcomer,  in  the  course 
of  its  search  for  food,  settled  upon  the  home  of  the 
two  Romans,  and  deliberately  entered  it,  attracted 
by  the  buckwheat  and  corn.  Mr.  Pigeon  drove  the 
intruder  out.  He  returned,  and  the  performance  of  ex- 
pulsion began  over  again.  This  game  lasted  all  day. 

The  obstinacy  of  the  newcomer  seemed  to  me  to 
indicate  the  weaker  sex — which  diagnosis  was  con- 
firmed by  my  recognition  that  the  Roman  pigeon, 
while  upholding  his  rights  as  first  occupant,  merely 
went  through  the  motions  of  battle,  and  never  effec- 
tively attacked  his  opponent.  For  eight  days  this 
proceeding  continued.  Several  hundred  times  a  day 
the  white  pigeon  flew  from  the  tree  to  the  dovecote, 
only  to  turn  back  at  the  first  threat  of  the  tenant's 
beak,  and  then  return  at  once  from  her  branch  to  the 


A  DOMESTIC  DRAMA  201 

blue  pigeon's  door,  where,  owing  to  his  prompt  hos- 
tility, she  would  barely  alight. 

Wearying  of  the  performance,  I,  finally,  with  a 
desire  to  protect  my  friends,  the  Romans,  caught 
the  white  bird,  and  presented  it  to  a  friend  who  was 
improving  some  property  in  the  wilds  of  Sannois. 
My  chestnut  tree  relapsed  into  peace,  and  the  feath- 
ered pair  continued  to  taste  the  joys  of  love. 

Two  months  later,  to  my  surprise,  I  perceived  my 
white  visitor  on  the  chestnut  tree.  She  had  already 
recommenced  her  visits  to  the  Roman  family,  and 
seemed  very  little  affected  by  the  hostile  recep- 
tion given  to  her  persistent  offers  of  friendship. 
At  the  same  time  a  letter  from  Sannois  informed  me 
that  the  prisoner,  taking  advantage  of  a  hole  in  the 
netting,  had  escaped.  Touched  by  the  sentiment 
that  had  brought  a  wandering  soul  back  from  such 
a  distance  to  the  home  of  her  choice,  I  resolved 
worthily  to  exercise  the  hospitality  so  perseveringly 
demanded  of  me.  I  had  a  new  house  built,  and  I 
gave  a  beautiful  husband  to  the  lady  whose  heart 
was  so  obviously  oppressed  by  the  weight  of  solitude. 
Peace  settled  upon  the  amorous  pigeon  world.  Each 
bent  his  energies,  in  accordance  with  established 
order,  to  the  occupation  of  reproducing  himself, 
and  seemed  to  find  happiness  therein. 

Who  does  not  know  that  the  joys  of  this  world  are 
brief? 

One  day  the  white  lady's  husband  was  found  dead, 


202  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

without  having  given  any  sign  of  illness.  His  fun- 
eral was  scarcely  over,  I  blush  to  say,  before  the  light 
creature  began  visiting  the  Roman  pair  again. 
I  soon  noticed  that  the  male  pigeon  had  reached  a 
sort  of  reconcilement  to  those  obstinate  visits.  He 
continued,  to  be  sure,  to  drive  the  intruder  away, 
but  so  nervelessly  that  she  returned  after  a  few  flaps 
of  her  wings,  without  even  bothering  to  go  back  as 
far  as  the  chestnut  tree. 

Soon,  I  realized  that  the  fascinating  person  with 
the  white  plumage  had  free  access  to  the  home  of  her 
neighbours.  When  I  inquired  into  the  reason  for  the 
Roman  not  barring  his  entrance  to  the  stranger,  I 
found  that  his  mate,  hunched  in  a  ball,  was  seriously 
ill,  and  that  the  perturbed  husband  would  not  leave 
her.  I  greatly  admired  this  exemplary  conduct. 
The  trouble  was  that  the  stranger,  taking  advantage 
of  the  open  door,  formed  the  annoying  habit  of 
perching  there  inside,  day  and  night.  The  pigeon 
stayed  close  by  his  mate,  and  hunched  himself  also 
in  a  ball  to  express  his  sympathy,  while  the  stranger 
looked,  dry-eyed,  on  the  ruin  of  the  home,  and  waited 
for  her  day. 

As  this  day  was  long  in  coming,  the  hussy  ven- 
tured to  intrude  upon  the  sorrow  of  the  suffering 
couple.  Thereupon,  the  sick  nurse,  listening  only  to 
the  voice  of  duty,  hurled  himself  upon  the  wicked 
beast,  and  with  beak  and  claw  drove  her  across  the 
threshold — even  a  little  way  beyond.  Alas!  this 


A  DOMESTIC  DRAMA  203 

was  precisely  the  object  of  her  detestable  machina- 
tions. The  widow  wished  to  be  pursued.  She 
succeeded,  returning  incessantly  to  the  charge — which 
obliged  the  pigeon  to  escort  her  out  of  the  house — 
and  defending  herself  only  enough  to  lend  vivacity 
to  the  encounter.  Then,  when  the  moment  seemed 
opportune,  she  abruptly  ceased  to  resist,  and  crouch- 
ing down,  half  spread  her  wings,  asking  that  the 
battle  of  conjugal  duty  be  transformed  into  a  lovers' 
contest.  Rarely  has  human  creature  given  such  an 
exhibition  of  immoral  conduct. 

I  must  say  that  the  virtuous  pigeon  at  first  ex- 
pressed his  indignation  by  coos  expressive  of  fury. 
But  what  can  you  expect?  The  flesh  is  weak.  When 
temptation  is  offered  every  minute  of  the  day  there 
is  some  excuse  for  stumbling.  I  was  a  witness  of  my 
Roman  pigeon's  weakening.  I  saw  him  finally  suc- 
cumb to  the  suggestions  of  the  wanton,  and  fall  into 
sin!  It  is  true  that,  ashamed  of  his  weakness,  he 
immediately  chastised  vice  by  pecking  the  one 
who  had  just  given  him  delight,  and  quickly  flew 
back  to  the  bed  of  straw  where  the  invalid!  lay  won- 
dering at  his  prolonged  absence. 

Every  creature  has  its  destiny.  The  betrayed 
wife  refused  to  die.  She  remained  motionless  all  day 
long,  ate  copiously,  in  spite  of  her  illness,  and  did  not 
waste  away.  Little  by  little  the  gallant  husband 
formed  the  habit  of  infidelity,  and  even  ended  by 
showing  a  grievous  alacrity  in  evil  doing.  I  must, 


204  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

however,  say  to  his  credit,  that  if  he  found  the  at- 
traction of  sin  stronger  now  than  the  call  of  duty,  he 
never  ceased  to  observe  the  strictest  decorum  under 
the  conjugal  roof.  He  always  treated  the  one  re- 
sponsible for  his  fall  as  a  courtesan  whose  acquaint- 
ance was  not  to  be  acknowledged.  As  soon  as  they 
were  inside  the  dovecote,  the  two  accomplices  were 
not  acquainted.  The  Roman  pigeon  lived  faithfully 
at  the  side  of  his  Roman  wife.  The  white  pigeon 
would  go  to  roost,  with  an  assumption  of  indiffer- 
ence, on  the  highest  perch.  Bourgeois  decency  wras 
preserved.  As  we  see  it  daily  among  human  beings, 
respectability  among  animals  may  be  coupled  with 
scandalous  debauchery.  The  sad,  confiding  little 
invalid  seemed  to  express  gratitude  to  her  spouse, 
by  tender,  cuddling  motions,  to  which,  I  prefer  to 
believe,  he  did  not  submit  without  some  feeling  of 
shame.  I  should  think  that  the  victim  would  have 
suspected  something,  if  only  because  the  two  culprits 
looked  so  remarkably  above  suspicion.  But  there 
are  especial  immunities. 

This  state  of  things  might  have  endured  indefi- 
nitely if  the  ill-starred  idea  of  an  experiment  had  not 
come  into  my  mind.  I  took  away  the  sick  bird  and 
isolated  her  for  two  days  in  a  cage.  I  planned  to 
observe  the  psychology  of  her  return  home,  fancying 
that  a  crisis  would  be  precipitated,  from  which  virtue 
might  issue  triumphant. 

At  first  the  widower  wished  to  make  sure  of  his 


A  DOMESTIC  DRAMA  205 

"misfortune."  He  searched  the  garden,  then  the 
neighbouring  roofs  where  he  had  formerly  spent  long 
periods  in  the  company  of  his  better  half.  When 
he  finally  believed  that  his  legitimate  mate  had  van- 
ished into  nothingness,  he  plunged  into  bottomless 
deeps  of  bliss  with  the  illegitimate  one.  What  an 
example  to  the  inhabitants  of  Passy ! 

For  two  days  a  joy  so  scandalous  reigned  in  the 
guilty  establishment  that  I  could  not  resist  the  de- 
sire to  break  up  the  indecent  festival.  I  therefore 
took  the  unfortunate  prisoner  and  exposed  her  well 
in  view  on  the  lawn.  As  soon  as  the  adulterous 
couple  beheld  her,  the  courtesan  hastened  to  the 
dovecote,  doubtless  to  establish  her  rights  of  pro- 
prietorship, and  the  faithless  spouse  fell  furiously 
upon  the  wife  restored  to  his  bosom.  He  beat  her 
with  wing  and  beak,  uttering  angry  coos.  I  sup- 
posed that  he  was  calling  her  to  account  for  her  dis- 
appearance, and  reproaching  her  with  what  he  might 
have  considered  a  prank,  he  whose  heart  should 
have  been  racked  with  remorse.  It  seemed  to  me 
that  he  was  driving  her  toward  the  dovecote,  and 
thinking  that  it  might  be  well  to  sustain  him  in  his 
demand  that  she  resume  her  position  in  the  home, 
whence  it  was  high  time  that  the  adventuress  be 
expelled,  I  myself  put  back  the  ailing  pigeon  in  the 
spot  from  which  I  had  taken  her  three  days  before. 

I  had  scarcely  left  her  when  a  terrible  flutter  of 
wings  warned  me  that  something  was  happening. 


206  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

I  hastened  back.  The  irreproachable  wife  was  dead, 
killed  by  the  lovers,  whom  two  days  had  sufficed 
to  unite  in  indissoluble  bonds  of  infamy.  The  un- 
lucky creature  lay  with  her  skull  broken  open  by  their 
beaks,  and  the  murderers  sated  their  ferocity  upon 
the  dead  body,  which  I  had  difficulty  in  wresting  from 
them. 

There  are  no  courts  of  law  in  the  animal  world, 
wherefore  Providence  had  no  option  but  to  crown 
the  triumph  of  crime  with  happy  peace.  This  it 
did  with  its  customary  generosity.  The  two  villains 
live  happy  in  their  love.  They  have  had,  and  will 
yet  have,  many  children. 


SIX  CENTS 


xvn 

SIX  CENTS 

HERE  is  the  history  of  a  man  without  a  history. 
As  far  back  as  I  can  remember,  I  can  see 
in  the  great  court  of  honour  of  the  Manor, 
devoted  to  plebeian  uses  since  the  Revolution,  Six 
Cents,  the  sawyer,  silently  occupied  with  making 
boards  out  of  the  trunks  of  poplars,  elms,  and  oaks, 
which  at  the  end  of  my  last  vacation  I  had  left  green 
and  living,  filled  with  the  song  of  birds,  and  whose 
corpses  I  found  on  my  return  tragically  piled  up  for 
the  posthumous  torture  by  which  man  pursues  his 
work  of  death-dealing  civilization. 

Jacques  Barbot,  commonly  called  Six  Cents, 
was  in  those  days  the  representative  of  industry 
in  the  rural  world;  he  typified  man  in  the  first  stage 
above  the  purely  agricultural  labourer  of  olden 
tunes.  To  prepare  the  raw  material  for  the  next 
man  to  use  was  his  social  function.  He  had  cer- 
tainly never  given  thought  to  this,  any  more  than 
to  the  cruel  fate  which  makes  of  man  the  first  victim 
of  his  inventions,  pregnant  though  they  be  of  future 
benefit.  For  how  many  centuries  the  grinding  of 
wheat  chained  the  slave  to  the  millstone,  until  the 

209 


210  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

day  dawned  when  the  beast  of  burden,  the  wind, 
water  and  steam,  came  to  take  his  place.  Even  to- 
day, how  much  serf's  labour  still  awaits  the  ingenuity 
of  future  liberators! 

It  is  certain  that  Six  Cents,  although  he  expressed 
his  views  to  nobody,  for  discretion  of  thought  was 
chief  among  his  characteristics,  did  not  feel  himself  a 
slave,  in  his  quiet  patience  under  the  common  sub- 
jugation of  labour.  As  it  happened,  the  machine 
which  set  lu'm  free  promptly  dealt  him  his  death  blow. 

Employee  and  employer  as  well,  he  hired  a  com- 
rade, whose  pay  was  nearly  equal  to  his  own,  and  all 
the  year  round,  in  the  cold  and  the  rain,  the  sun 
or  the  wind,  he  matched  himself  with  untiring  en- 
ergy against  the  wide-branched  giants,  and  defeated 
those  •  adversaries.  The  ever-renewed  struggle 
against  the  eternal  resistance  of  the  woody  monsters 
made  up  his  entire  life.  Beyond  that,  no  horizon, 
no  thought;  his  was  the  unconsciousness  of  the 
soul  in  the  making.  Gladstone,  stupidly  and  with- 
out the  excuse  of  necessity,  used  to  hack  down  the 
noble  leafy  creations  that  form  so  great  a  part  of 
the  earth's  beauty.  Six  Cents,  as  insensible  as  he 
to  the  esthetic  aspect  of  tree  life,  engaged  in  a 
mortal  combat  to  wrest  his  living  from  the  obstinate 
fibres  clinging  to  life  with  obscure  yet  tenacious 
vitality. 

On  winter  days,  favourable  for  felling  trees,  the 
executioners  would  arrive  on  the  spot,  axe  in  hand, 


SIX  CENTS  211 

to  carry  out  the  death  sentence  pronounced  by  inter- 
est against  life  and  beauty.  In  the  desolate  country, 
overflown  by  bands  of  crows  with  their  ill-omened 
croaking,  the  strokes  of  the  sinister  axe  would  echo 
far  around,  as  they  accomplished  their  work  of 
death.  The  tall  trunk  rocks  at  each  deeper  entering 
of  the  iron,  while  the  plumy  branches  beat  the  air 
in  shudders  of  agony.  The  rope  fastened  to  the 
top  of  the  tree  grows  taut — a  sharp  blow,  followed 
by  a  long  wail,  and  the  groaning  colossus  falls  heav- 
ily to  earth.  Like  a  hero  on  the  fields  of  Ilion  hurl- 
ing himself  upon  the  spoils  of  the  vanquished  foe, 
Six  Cents  on  the  instant  is  chopping,  cutting,  trim- 
ming, drawing  lines  where  the  saw  is  to  divide  the 
tree  into  logs.  Soon  the  stripped  shaft,  chained  to 
the  sawing  trestle,  will  show  on  its  length  as  well  as 
its  girth  black  lines,  drawn  straight  by  aid  of  a  string 
for  the  sawyer's  reliance  in  guiding  the  steel  teeth. 

One  man  stands  above  and  one  below  the  trestle. 
The  thin  notched  blade,  working  its  way  forward 
with  a  soft  swish  muffled  by  the  sawdust,  rises  and 
falls  with  the  rhythmic  motion  of  the  bodies  alter- 
nately bending  down  and  straightening  up.  From  a 
distance  you  see  two  men  in  front  of  each  other,  one 
facing  earthward,  the  other  skyward,  and  perpetu- 
ally bowing  as  if  in  mutual  greeting.  When  the 
entire  existence  of  a  human  being  has  for  its  sole 
activity  an  incessant  bowing,  not  even  to  the  tree 
about  to  die,  but  to  its  corpse,  into  which  he  is  driv- 


212  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

ing  the  iron  a  little  further  with  each  courteous  ges- 
ture, there  results  a  monotony  of  sensation,  of 
thought  (if  the  two  words  may  be  used  in  this  con- 
nection,) progressively  benumbing  the  spirit,  or  re- 
ducing it  to  the  minimum  of  cogitation  compatible 
with  a  continuance  of  life.  The  inert  intelligence 
becomes  atrophied.  What  is  the  mentality  of  the 
slave  harnessed  to  the  millstone?  Not  greatly 
superior  to  that  of  the  beast  of  burden  substituted 
for  him.  Six  Cents,  slaughtering  his  trees,  took 
from  them  only  vegetative  life.  His  victims  un- 
consciously revenged  themselves  by  bringing  him 
down  through  the  continuity  of  enforced  labour  to 
the  lowest  rank  of  conscious  life. 

One  must  not  suppose  that  Six  Cents  was  stupid. 
His  countenance,  with  its  regular  features,  was  frank 
and  open.  His  eyes,  which  though  lacking  in  fire 
were  gentle  and  appeared  to  dwell  on  something 
far  away,  reminded  one  of  those  of  certain  dogs,  "very 
intelligent,"  but  incapable  of  any  effort  beyond 
primitive  comprehension.  He  was  not  a  mere  animal, 
but  simply  an  undeveloped  man.  He  did  not  know 
how  to  read,  nor  had  he  ever  stopped  to  wonder  what 
might  be  contained  hi  a  book.  To  saw  to-day,  to 
saw  to-morrow:  a  narrow  cycle  of  dull  thoughts 
brought  him  continually  back  to  his  starting  point. 
The  wide  gray  velvet  trousers  from  the  pocket  of 
which  protruded  the  points  of  a  pair  of  compasses 
distinguished  him  from  tillers  of  the  soil.  The 


SIX  CENTS  213 

stamp  of  science  and  art  was  upon  him,  but  so  rudi- 
mentary, that  the  appropriate  mechanical  gesture 
was  the  Ultima  Thule  of  his  attainment.  The 
smooth-shaven  face,  framed  in  long  gray  locks,  under 
a  cloth  cap  in  the  fashion  of  Louis  XI,  inspired  re- 
spect by  its  placid  gravity.  His  slow,  heavy  step 
could  be  heard  on  the  road  as  he  went  silently  to  his 
work,  whereas  the  plowmen,  exchanging  greetings 
as  they  passed  one  another,  urged  on  then*  beasts  with 
shouts,  held  them  back  with  oaths,  or  brightened  the 
day  with  love  songs.  Presently,  they  would  be  turn- 
ing over  their  furrows,  still  shouting,  still  swearing, 
and  still  singing,  followed  by  the  feathered  host,  to 
whom  the  plowshare  furnishes  inexhaustible  feasts. 
During  this,  Six  Cents,  at  the  foot  of  the  trestle, 
gazing  upward  open  mouthed,  without  sound,  his 
attention  centred  upon  not  departing  from  the 
straight  line,  would  stretch  to  full  height  with  arms 
extended,  then  stoop  to  the  ground  as  if  to  touch  it, 
bend  over  only  to  lift  himself,  and  lift  himself  only 
to  bend  again. 

And  what  of  the  interludes  between  work  hours? 
There  is  the  cheer  of  the  coarse  but  comforting  re- 
past, with  the  zest  of  its  thin,  sourish  white  wine 
"warming  to  the  heart" — the  walk  from  work  to 
food  and  from  food  to  work;  sleep,  when  strength  is 
spent,  and  rising  when  it  would  be  pleasant  to  go  on 
sleeping.  On  Sundays,  there  is  first  and  foremost 
the  joy  of  doing  nothing,  then  there  are  the  heavy 


214  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

conversations  during  which  no  one  has  anything 
to  say,  each  having  no  interest  in  any  but  his  own 
case,  "feeling  only  his  own  ills,"  as  the  popular  say. 
ing  has  it;  there  is  the  talk  about  the  weather,  the 
tedium  of  an  idle  day,  occasionally  the  diversion  of 
rural  debate  on  the  church  square  after  mass;  there 
is  communion  with  the  blessed  bottle,  substituting 
a  paradise  of  dreams  for  the  irksome  reality  of 
things.  What  further? 

Married  in  a  purely  animal  sense,  as  is  the  case 
with  the  majority  of  the  human  race,  Six  Cents  lived 
in  the  relation  of  male  to  female  with  his  "good  wife," 
finding  in  marriage  the  advantage  of  partnership  in 
labour.  Were  they  faithful  to  each  other?  In  a 
village  these  matters,  which  create  so  much  commo- 
tion in  the  city,  have  small  importance.  People  are 
too  close  to  nature  to  resist  the  attraction  of  the 
moment.  And  I  cannot  see  that  the  dwellers  in 
cities  set  them  such  a  shining  example.  The  dis- 
traction of  fairs  is  unknown  to  the  sawyer  who  has 
nothing  to  sell.  Thefts  are  too  common,  crimes  too 
rare,  they  are  not  common  subjects  of  conversation. 
Finally,  to  satisfy  the  rudimentary  urge  of  idealism, 
there  are  politics  and  religion,  represented  by  the 
mayor  and  the  priest.  From  the  pulpit  fall  in- 
comprehensible words  to  which  no  one  pays  attention, 
since  no  one  can  see  that  they  have  any  real  effect 
upon  anything  whatsoever.  Religion  consists  prin- 
cipally in  believing  that  we  must  by  means  of  certain 


SIX  CENTS  215 

ceremonies  get  on  the  right  side  of  a  God  who  will 
otherwise  burn  us  up.  At  the  approach  of  death  one 
tries  to  get  the  balance  in  his  favour  at  all  costs. 
But  this  changes  nothing  in  the  conduct  of  life. 
Local  politics  are  in  general,  as  they  are  everywhere, 
a  matter  of  business.  The  calculation  can  quickly  be 
made  as  to  the  value  of  a  vote  on  one  side  or  the 
other.  There  is  no  other  problem.  This  is  how  a 
great  many  Frenchmen  still  express  the  "national 
will"  concerning  the  most  important  matters  of 
politics  and  sociology.  The  point  ever  present  to  the 
mind  is  the  question  of  remuneration.  But  the 
conditions  determining  the  wages  of  labour  escape 
the  power  of  analysis  of  such  fellows  as  Six  Cents. 
What  can  they  do  but  say  "I  work  too  much  and 
earn  too  little,"  and  stop,  amazed  before  the  in- 
soluble puzzle. 

One  day,  however,  Six  Cents  heard  news,  when  he 
happened  to  complain  that  "Boards  did  not  find  as 
good  market  as  they  used  to."  He  was  told  about 
pines,  and  water  power,  and  sawmills  in  Norway,  and 
cheap  transportation,  a  tale  which  he  did  not  entirely 
understand,  but  from  which  he  gathered  that  the 
evil  was  irremediable.  He  therefore  resigned  him- 
self as  he  had  always  done,  bowing  under  the  in- 
evitable. He  earned  less  and  still  less,  while  working 
harder  and  harder  because  of  arms  grown  weaker,  and 
back  grown  stiff  with  the  years.  In  spite  of  the 
kindly  advice  of  philanthropical  political  economists, 


216  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

Six  Cents,  wearing  out  his  body  by  continual  labour, 
had  no  savings.  He  had  no  old  sock  filled  with  gold 
pieces  against  a  rainy  day,  such  as  the  simple  like  to 
believe  in.  Why  economize,  when  one  knows  that  a 
lifetime  of  pinching  would  lead  to  a  ludicrously 
inadequate  result? 

Old  age  is  upon  him.  Pitiless  progress  has  done 
its  work.  Humble  village  craftsmen  like  Six  Cents 
are  out  of  date.  The  concentration  of  capital 
demands  the  mustering  of  labourers  in  the  all- 
devouring  factory.  Six  Cents  looks  on  without 
understanding,  without  complaining.  He  has  come 
to  poverty,  want.  Utter  destitution  as  he  nears  the 
grave  seems  to  him  but  one  fate-ordained  calamity 
more  to  throw  on  the  heap  with  the  others.  Is 
any  one  surprised  at  heat  in  summer  and  cold  in 
winter?  We  must  accept  things  as  they  come,  and 
if  nothing  comes,  still  be  content,  since  we  cannot 
change  the  actual  course  of  things.  It  is  the  same 
resignation  as  that  of  beasts  under  the  whip.  Six 
Cents*  wife  with  a  sack  on  her  back  goes  from  door  to 
door  begging  for  a  crust  or  a  few  potatoes,  grudgingly 
given  to  her.  The  sawyer  does  such  small  odd  jobs 
as  he  finds  to  do.  They  keep  alive,  and  at  times 
appear  contented.  Seated  on  a  stone  at  the  thresh- 
old of  his  hut,  Six  Cents  watches  the  world  go  by. 
The  young  come,  merry,  wilful,  noisy.  The  aged 
pass,  dejected,  resigned,  silent. 

"With  all  the  boards  I  have  sawed,"  said  he,  the 


SIX  CENTS  217 

other  day,  "it  will  certainly  be  strange  if  four  cannot 
be  found  to  make  my  last  home." 

The  history  of  a  man  without  a  history  I  have 
called  this.  But  even  without  events,  without 
passions,  without  desires,  without  revolts,  without 
search  for  better  things,  and  with  the  apathy  of  life- 
long labour  directed  to  no  end,  is  it  not  still  a  history? 
The  evolution  of  human  society  cannot  be  denied. 
But  the  time  seems  distant  when  men  shall  keep 
abreast  in  their  progression.  Up  to  the  present 
time,  what  a  lot  of  laggards!  Consider  the  mental 
development  of  the  cave  man,  chipping  his  flint, 
polishing  his  stone  axe,  sharpening  his  arrows, 
dividing  his  time  between  hunting  and  fighting, 
defending  his  hearth  with  vigilant  effort,  and  trying 
to  destroy  the  hearth  of  his  neighbour,  and  then  tell 
me  whether  the  wretched  man  who  spends  all  the 
days  of  his  life  sawing  the  same  board,  hammering 
the  same  iron-bar,  turning  the  same  crank  of  the  same 
machine  all  day  long — whether  this  man  is  intellectu- 
ally superior  to  the  cave  man?  All  this,  of  course, 
must  change.  Let  us,  in  order  to  help  on  the  good 
work,  take  account  as  we  go  of  the  temporary 
conditions  of  human  kind. 


FLOWER  O'  THE  WHEAT 


XVIII 
FLOWER  O'  THE  WHEAT 

FLOWER  o'  the  Wheat  was  the  prettiest  girl 
in  my  village.  Tall,  well  set  up,  step- 
ping along  with  a  fine  self-confidence,  she 
brightened  by  her  clear  laughter  the  fields,  the 
woods,  the  deep  road  cuts  of  the  Vendee.  With  the 
first  warm  days  of  spring  the  milky  whiteness  of  her 
skin  would  be  dotted  over  with  a  constellation  of 
freckles. 

The  peasants  used  to  say:  "The  good  Lord 
threw  a  handful  of  bran  in  her  face." 

Bran  and  flour,  it  would  seem,  for  her  face  under 
the  sun's  rays  remained  as  white  as  if  dusted  over 
with  the  powder  of  bolted  wheat.  Hence,  perhaps, 
her  surname,  or  possibly  she  owed  it  to  her  red  hair, 
matched  rather  unusually  by  tawny  eyes.  She  gave 
one  the  impression  of  being  all  of  the  beautiful  gold- 
brown  tone  of  ripe  wheat.  Flower  os  the  Wheat  was 
beautiful,  and  knew  it  because  she  was  told  so  all  day 
long. 

The  man  of  the  fields  is  not  by  a  long  way  in- 
sensible to  beauty.  His  esthetic  sense  is  not  the 
same  as  ours.  He  is  not  moved  by  a  line,  a  contour, 

221 


222  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

the  grace  of  a  moving  form,  but  he  is  powerfully 
affected  by  colour,  as  are  all  whom  civilization  has 
not  overrefined.  Flower  o*  the  Wheat  being  a 
creature  of  living  colour,  had,  therefore,  the  pleasure  of 
hearing  herself  proclaimed  fair,  and  of  having  to 
fend  off  the  playfulness,  and  occasionally  the  some- 
what robust  caresses,  of  manly  youth  all  the  way 
from  Sainte  Hermine  to  Chantonnay.  Plant  a 
flower  wherever  you  will,  there  the  bees  will  con- 
gregate. Wherever  you  meet  beauty,  you  will  see 
men  coming  to  forage,  with  eyes  and  hands  and  lips. 
Between  city  and  country  there  is  only  a  difference  of 
setting. 

As  her  fame  spread  beyond  the  borders  of  the 
canton,  Flower  o'  the  Wheat  had  a  throng  of  admirers 
such  as  had  not  been  seen  for  many  a  day  in  our 
neighbourhood.  The  pride  of  it  shone  in  her  eyes, 
dazzled  by  then*  own  attractiveness,  and  if  she  had 
been  told  of  Cleopatra  on  whom  was  centred  the 
gaze  of  the  world,  it  is  not  certain  that  she  would  have 
thought  the  Egyptian  queen  had  an  advantage  over 
the  country  maid.  For  which  I  praise  her,  for  enu- 
merating a  multitude  of  adorers  is  a  foolish  pastime. 
Moreover,  the  queen  was  dead  and  the  peasant  girl 
alive:  the  best  argument  of  all. 

The  delightful  part  of  the  story  is  that  Flower  o' 
the  Wheat,  while  permitting  herself  to  be  admired 
by  every  man,  and  envied  by  every  woman,  kept  her 
heart  faithful  to  the  friend  who  had  known  how  to 


FLOWER  O'  THE  WHEAT 

win  it,  in  which  she  differed  notably  from  Cleopatra. 
Now,  that  friend,  for  I  must  finally  come  to  my 
confession,  was  none  other  than  your  humble  servant. 
I  may  be  pardoned  the  pride  of  that  avowal:  I 
loved  Flower  o'  the  Wheat,  and  Flower  o'  the  Wheat 
entertained  sentiments  for  me  which  she  was  not  in 
the  least  loth  to  exhibit.  I  used  to  follow  her 
about  the  fields  with  her  dog,  "Red  Socks,"  so  called 
because  of  his  four  tawny  paws,  and  while  the  flock 
browsed  very  improperly  beyond  the  limit  set  by  the 
rural  guard,  I  told  her  all  about  Nantes,  where  I  had 
spent  the  winter.  I  amazed  her  with  tales  from  my 
books,  or  else  she  talked  to  me  about  animals,  what 
they  did,  what  they  thought;  she  told  me  extraor- 
dinary stories.  Our  souls  were  very  near  to  each 
other,  I  will  not  say  the  same  of  our  hearts,  for  the  sad 
part  of  our  love  was,  alas,  that  she  was  twenty  and  I 
was  six — or  seven,  if  I  stood  on  tiptoe.  This  did 
not  make  it  difficult  for  either  of  us,  however,  to  hug 
the  other.  It  was  only  later  that  I  realized  my 
misfortune. 

Our  best  days  were  at  harvest  time.  The  abomin- 
able smoke  of  the  threshing  machine  had  not  yet 
invaded  the  countryside.  The  flail  was  still  in  use. 
At  dawn,  men  and  women  divided  into  groups 
would  begin  the  round  of  the  threshing  floor,  their 
motions  accompanied  by  the  rhythmic  thud  of  the 
wooden  flail,  muffled  by  the  straw  on  the  ground; 
one  half  of  the  quadrille  would  slowly  retreat,  while 


224  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

the  other  half  gradually  advanced.  The  necessity 
for  attention,  and  the  sustained  effort,  obliged  them 
to  be  silent.  But  what  a  reaction  of  laughter  and 
song  when  the  wooden  pitch  forks  came  into  play, 
stacking  the  straw!  Noonday  would  see  the  ground 
strewn  with  harvesters  taking  their  rest  in  the  full 
glare  of  the  sun,  for  the  peasant  fears  the  treacherous 
shade.  Upon  the  stroke  of  a  bell,  the  noisy  concert 
of  the  flails  would  again  fill  the  air  on  every  side. 

At  evening  there  were  dances,  and  there  were 
songs,  in  which  Flower  o'  the  Wheat  excelled.  She 
knew  every  song  of  that  region,  and  would  sing  in  a 
nasal,  untutored  voice,  delicious  to  the  rustic  ear, 
ingenuous  poems,  in  which  "The  King's  Son,"  the 
"Nightingale,"  and  the  "Rose"  appeared  in  fantastic 
splendours,  joyful  or  sad.  A  local  bard  had  even 
made  about  Flower  o'  the  Wheat,  a  somewhat  free  and 
outspoken  song  in  dialect,  the  refrain  of  which  said 
that  the  flower  of  the  wheat  surrenders  its  grain 
under  the  harvester's  flail.  Flower  o'  the  Wlieat 
without  false  shame  celebrated  herself  in  song,  and 
there  were  fine  jostlings  if  some  young  fellow  jokingly 
made  believe  to  put  the  refrain  into  action. 

Sooner  or  later,  Flower  o'  the  Wheat  was  bound  to 
come  under  the  harvester's  flail.  And  here  I  call  the 
reader's  attention  to  this  story,  whose  merit  is  that  it 
is  the  story  of  everyone.  I  know  of  no  greater  error 
than  to  suppose  that  extraordinary  adventures  are 
what  make  life  interesting.  If  one  looks  closely,  one 


FLOWER  O'  THE  WHEAT  225 

finds  that  the  truly  marvellous  things  are  those 
which  happen  to  us  every  day,  and  that  duels,  dagger 
thrusts,  even  automobile  accidents,  with  accompany- 
ing hatred,  jealousy,  betrayed  love,  and  treachery, 
are  in  reality  the  vulgar  incidents  in  the  enormous 
drama  of  our  common  life  from  birth  to  death. 

To  bring,  without  any  will  of  our  own,  our  ego  to 
the  consciousness  of  this  world,  be  subject  to  a  fatal 
concatenation  of  joys  and  sorrows  dealt  by  the 
hazard  of  fortune,  and  end  in  the  slow  decay  which 
brings  us  back  to  the  condition  preceding  our  exist- 
ence, is  not  this  the  supreme  adventure?  What 
more  is  needed  to  make  us  marvel?  Some,  who  are 
called  pessimists,  accept  it  with  a  certain  amount  of 
grumbling.  Others,  regarded  as  optimists,  con- 
sider their  misfortune  so  great  that  they  eagerly  add 
to  it,  by  way  of  consolation,  the  dream  of  a  celestial 
adventure  which  everyone  is  free  to  embellish  as 
much  as  he  pleases. 

Flower  o'  the  Wheat  did  not  bother  her  head  with 
any  of  this.  She  was  twenty,  a  more  engrossing 
fact.  She  listened  to  the  voice  of  her  youth,  like  the 
women  gone  before  her,  as  well  as  those  who  will 
follow  her  on  this  earth.  In  the  fields,  nature  being 
so  close,  people  are  very  little  hampered  by  the  more 
or  less  fantastic  social  conventions,  which  undertake 
to  regulate  the  human  relations  between  two  young 
creatures  hungering  and  thirsting  for  each  other. 

A  special  sort  of  cake  called  "6chaud6"  is   the 


226  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

chief  industrial  product  of  my  village:  a  cake  made 
of  flour  and  eggs,  very  delectable  when  fresh  from  the 
oven,  but  heavy,  and  cause  of  a  formidable  thirsti- 
ness,  by  the  time  it  has  travelled  through  the  bracken 
as  far  as  Niort,  La  Rochelle,  or  Fontenay.  Its  trans- 
portation is  carried  on  by  night,  in  long  carts  drawn 
by  a  horse  whose  slow  and  steady  gait  rocks  the 
slumbers  of  the  driver  and  of  the  woman  who  ac- 
companies him  to  preside  over  the  sale  of  the  cakes. 
These  carts  are  terrible  go-betweens.  The  scent  of 
fern  is  full  of  danger.  The  two  lie  down  to  sleep, 
side  by  side,  under  the  open  sky.  They  do  not 
always  sleep,  even  after  a  long  day's  labour.  The 
market  town  is  far  away.  The  unkindly  disposed 
and  censorious  are  shut  within  their  own  four  walls. 
Temptation  is  increased  by  the  jolts  that  throw 
people  one  against  the  other.  Wherefore  resist, 
since  one  must  finally  surrender? 

Flower  o'  the  Wheat,  who  was  in  the  service  of  a 
rich  dealer  in  6chaiid£s,  one  fine  day  married  her 
"master,"  after  having  given  him,  to  the  surprise  of 
no  one,  two  unequivocal  proofs  of  her  aptitude  for 
the  joys  as  well  as  duties  of  maternity.  Her  neigh- 
bours in  the  country  will  tell  you  that  there  was 
nothing  out  of  the  ordinary  in  her  life.  Her  husband 
beat  her  only  on  Sundays,  after  vespers,  when  he 
had  been  drinking  too  much,  and  she  took  no  more 
revenge  upon  him  than  was  necessary  to  show  out- 
siders that  he  did  not  have  the  last  word. 


FLOWER  O'  THE  WHEAT  227 

I  saw  her  again,  at  that  time,  after  a  fairly  long 
period  of  absence.  The  handful  of  flour  and  bran 
was  still  there.  Her  eyes  had  kept  their  lustre,  and 
her  hair  still  blazed  under  the  fluttering  white  wings 
of  her  coif.  But  her  glance  seemed  to  me  sharper, 
and  already  the  curve  of  her  lips  betrayed  weariness 
of  life.  Her  pretty  name  still  clung  to  her,  but  the 
flower  had  lost  its  bloom.  She  still  laughed,  but  she  no 
longer  sang.  Fortune  had  come  to  her,  as  rings  and 
brooches  and  gold  chains  attested.  On  Sundays  she 
wore  a  silk  skirt  and  apron  to  church,  and  carried  a 
gilded  book,  a  thing  found  useful  even  by  those  who 
cannot  read,  since  it  gives  them  the  satisfaction  of 
exciting  their  neighbours'  envy. 

My  visits  to  the  village  had  become  brief  and  far 
spaced.  We  had  lived  very  far  apart,  when  I  met 
her  one  day,  in  one  of  our  deep  road  cuts,  leading  her 
cow  to  pasture.  An  old,  wrinkled,  broken,  worn-out 
woman.  We  stopped  to  chat.  Her  husband  was 
dead  and  had  left  her  with  "property,"  but  the 
children  were  pressing  her  to  make  over  everything  to 
them.  They  would  have  an  allowance  settled  on 
her  "at  the  notary's,"  they  said. 

"I  shall  have  to  make  up  my  mind  to  do  it,"  she 
ended  with  a  sigh.  "Will  you  believe  that  my  son 
came  near  beating  me  yesterday,  because  I  would  not 
say  yes  or  no?" 

Ten  more  years  passed.  One  day,  as  I  was  going 
through  a  neighbouring  hamlet,  a  tumble-down 


228  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

hovel  was  pointed  out  to  me  and  I  was  told  that 
"the  Barbotte"  was  ending  her  days  there.  Flower 
o'  the  Wheat  was  no  more.  She  was  now  "the 
Barbotte,"  from  her  husband's  name,  Barbot. 

I  entered.  In  the  half  light,  I  could  see,  under  the 
remnants  of  an  old  mantle,  the  shaking  head  of  an 
aged  woman,  with  a  dried-up,  shrivelled  parchment 
face,  pierced  by  two  yellow  eyes  wherein  slumbered 
the  dim  vestiges  of  a  glance.  A  neighbour  told  me 
all  about  it.  The  children  did  not  pay  the  allow- 
ance, which  surprised  no  one.  It  was  the  usual 
thing.  From  time  to  time,  they  brought  her  a 
crust  of  bread,  occasionally  soup,  or  scraps  of  food  on 
Sunday,  after  mass.  The  old  woman  was  infirm,  and 
waited  on  herself  with  difficulty.  A  servant  was 
supposed  to  come  and  see  her  once  a  day.  Often  she 
forgot. 

"Why  not  make  a  complaint?"  said  I,  thought- 
lessly. 

"She  spoke,  one  day,  of  letting  the  notary  know. 
They  beat  her  for  it.  And  who  would  be  willing  to 
take  her  message?  No  one  is  anxious  to  make 
enemies.  Her  children  are  already  none  too  well 
pleased  that  any  one  should  enter  the  hut.  They  do 
not  want  people  meddling  with  their  affairs." 

During  this  talk  tears  were  shining  in  the  blinking 
yellow  eyes.  "The  Barbotte"  had  recognized  me. 

"Don't  be  troubled  on  my  account,"  she  said  in  a 
thin  voice  that  betrayed  the  fear  of  being  beaten.  *'I 


FLOWER  O'  THE  WHEAT  229 

need  nothing.  My  children  are  very  kind.  They 
come  every  day.  Maybe  you  are  like  the  rest,  sir, 
you  think  I  find  time  heavy  on  my  hands.  Do  you 
know  what  I  do,  when  I  am  here  alone?  I  sing,  in  my 
mind,  all  the  songs  of  long  ago.  I  had  forgotten 
them,  and  now  they  have  come  back  to  me.  All  day 
I  sing  them,  without  making  any  noise.  I  sing 
them  inside.  One  after  the  other.  When  I  have 
finished  them  all,  I  begin  over  again.  It  is  like 
telling  my  beads.  It  is  funny,  is  it  not?'* 

And  she  tried  to  smile. 

"Monsieur  le  cure  scolds  me,"  she  took  up  again. 
*'He  wishes  me  to  say  my  prayers.  But  I  have  no 
sooner  started  on  the  prayers  than  back  come  the 
songs.  I  cannot  help  it.  You  remember,  don't 
you, ' The  King's  Son? '  Oh,  the  'King's  Son !'  And 
the  'Nightingale?'  And  the  'Rose?'  I  want  to  sing 
one  for  you.  Out  loud,  instead  of  in  my  mind. 
Which  one?  'Flower  o'  the  Wheat!'  Flower  o'  the 
Wheat!  Ah.  .  .  ."  She  seemed  on  the  point 
of  singing,  but  dropping  from  it,  exclaimed:  "The 
flail  of  the  harvester  came.  The  grain  was  taken. 
Nothing  is  left  but  the  straw  .  .  .  and  that 
badly  damaged.  It  was  threshed  too  much.  .  .  . 
Dear  sir,  you  who  know  everything,  can  you  tell  me 
why  we  come  into  this  world?" 

"I  will  tell  you  another  day,  my  dear  friend, 
when  I  come  again." 

But  I  never  went  back. 


JEAN  PIOT'S  FEAST 


XIX 

JEAN  PIOT'S  FEAST 

WITHOUT  examining  the  question  whether 
life  is  sad  or  gay,  without  attempting  to  say 
which  is  right,  the  groaning  pessimist 
or  the  optimist  singing  hymns  of  praise,  one  may  be 
allowed  the  remark  that  a  great  many  people  en- 
counter between  birth  and  death  a  great  deal  of 
trouble.  Conspicuous  among  them  is  the  multitude 
of  wretches  who  from  morning  until  night  wear 
themselves  out  in  ungrateful  and  monotonous  labour 
for  which  they  receive  just  enough  to  enable  them  to 
continue  wearing  themselves  out  without  rest  or 
reward. 

The  "fortunate  ones  of  the  world,"  those  whom 
the  others  call  fortunate  because  they  are  safe  from 
cold  and  hunger  day  by  day,  readily  believe  that  men 
bowed  all  their  lives  in  the  slavery  of  labour  can  no 
more  than  beasts  of  burden  feel  the  cruelty  of  their 
fate.  It  is,  in  fact,  a  great  aid  to  optimism  to 
believe  that  the  small  allowance  of  worldly  good 
which  some  of  us  can  get  along  with,  though  we  feel 
our  share  insufficient,  is  not  paid  for  by  a  correspond- 
ing amount  of  worldly  evil  at  the  other  end  of  the 

'233 


234  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

divinely  instituted  social  scale.  In  so  far  as  he  thinks 
at  all,  the  peasant  entertains  the  same  idea  about  the 
animals,  whom  he  uses  without  forbearance,  and 
beats  unmercifully,  satisfied  with  the  argument 
that  "they  cannot  feel  anything.'*  As  for  him,  what 
exactly  does  he  feel  in  connection  with  the  good  and 
evil  of  life?  In  looking  for  an  answer  one  should 
discriminate  between  the  peasant  of  the  past  and 
the  peasant  of  to-day,  who  in  a  vague  way  has  been 
developed  by  military  service,  emancipated,  not 
very  coherently,  by  the  primary  school  and  universal 
suffrage,  to  say  nothing  of  the  railroads. 

"\Yhen  I  look  at  the  peasant  of  to-day,  and  com- 
pare him  with  the  one  I  knew  hi  my  youth,  I  realize 
that  a  breach  has  been  made  in  the  impenetrable 
hedge  that  once  closed  his  horizon.  I  do  not  know 
whether  he  is  happier  or  less  happy.  He  has  come 
into  relation  with  the  rest  of  the  world;  that  is  the 
chief  difference.  I  do  not  say  that  he  personally  has 
even  a  dim  conception  of  things  in  general.  I  do  not 
believe  he  asks  himself  any  troublesome  questions 
concerning  the  universe.  But  how  many  inhabitants 
of  cities  are  like  him  in  that  respect?  Schools  have 
remained  a  place  where  words  are  taught.  Barracks 
teach  obedience  and  discourage  thought,  agreeing  in 
this  with  Monsieur  le  Cure",  who  exacts  blind  faith,  to 
the  detriment  of  reason,  that  instrument  of  the  devil. 
Finally,  the  right  to  vote,  which  makes  of  men  with 
such  poor  preparation  the  sovereign  arbiters  of  the 


JEAN  PIOT'S  FEAST  235 

most  important  social  and  political  questions,  the 
right  to  vote  so  frequently  reduces  itself  to  a  simple 
matter  of  business  or  local  interest,  that  the  least 
daring  generalizations  are  beyond  the  understanding 
of  the  average  peasant. 

So  it  happens  that  despite  the  daily  advance  of 
civilization  the  countryman  continues  to  lead  an 
elementary  kind  of  life,  knowing  little  of  society  save 
his  obligation  to  pay  taxes,  finding  nothing  in  life 
beyond  the  necessity  to  work  without  sufficient 
remuneration  to  provide  for  inevitable  old  age.  His 
distractions,  his  pleasures,  he  finds  in  the  Church,  in 
fairs  and  the  shows  attached,  in  markets  and  the 
drinking  appurtenant,  with  interludes  of  amorous 
expansion  which  will  be  granted  to  the  veriest  slave 
by  the  harshest  master,  interested  in  the  continuance 
of  a  servile  caste. 

It  is  true  that  aside  from  the  joys  of  thought  our 
average  citizen,  even  with  theatres  and  music  halls, 
attains  to  no  higher  pleasures.  To  eat,  to  drink,  to 
go  out  of  their  way  to  strip  love  of  the  dreams  and 
idealism  which  make  it  beautiful,  these,  when  all  is 
said,  compose  the  everlasting  "life  of  pleasure"  of 
our  most  assiduous  "racketers."  As  love  among 
peasants  is  unhampered  by  idealism,  the  countryman 
has  the  two  other  diversions  left  him,  eating  and 
drinking,  which  few  mortals  hold  in  contempt,  as  any- 
body can  see. 

My  friend  Jean  Piot,  who  for  many  years  honour- 


236  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

ably  occupied  in  broad  sunlight  a  position  between 
that  of  beggar  and  labourer  by  the  day,  or  "odd 
jobber,"  was  never  one  of  those  good  for  nothings 
who  grumble  over  their  task.  In  the  wood  yard  he 
would  do  double  work  without  flagging.  On  the  other 
hand,  he  would  have  been  ashamed  of  himself  had  he 
not  taken  as  his  legitimate  reward  an  equivalent 
ration  of  "fun."  Puritans,  turn  away  your  heads! 
Jean  Piot,  after  his  enormous  share  of  work,  exacted 
remuneration  from  Providence,  in  the  shape  of  joys. 

In  his  youth,  labour  and  joy  went  hand  in  hand. 
If  the  pay  was  not  large  in  spite  of  the  excellence  of  the 
work,  neither,  on  the  other  hand,  is  the  expense  large, 
when  a  kiss  only  asks  for  a  kiss  in  return,  when  the 
soup  of  beans,  cabbage,  potatoes,  and  the  bacon  to  go 
with  it,  are  plentiful,  when  the  white  wine  demanded 
by  the  labourer  with  sweat  on  his  brow  is  grudged  him 
by  no  one.  Jean  Piot  had  no  trade,  or  rather  he  had 
all  trades.  He  was  equally  good  as  digger,  teamster, 
herdsman,  or  plowman,  he  took  as  much  pleasure  in 
all  toil  connected  with  the  earth  as  if  he  derived 
strength  from  it  for  his  revels. 

Then  old  age  came.  Jean  Piot  performed  fewer 
prodigies,  and  when  he  did  the  work  of  one  man 
only,  the  master  rebuked  his  laziness.  He  had 
encumbered  himself  on  the  way  with  a  certain 
Jeanne,  whom  public  opinion  reproached  with  having 
put  the  two  or  three  children  she  had  had  before  her 
marriage  into  a  Foundlings'  Home — she  was  re- 


JEAN  PIOT'S  FEAST  237 

preached,  that  is  to  say,  with  having  estimated  that 
the  Republic  would  provide  better  than  she  could  for 
their  maintenance  and  education.  The  sin  is  not  one 
for  which  in  the  opinion  of  the  village  there  is  no 
remission.  Jeanne  having  become  "the  Piotte," 
showed  no  less  ardour  for  work  and  no  less  love  of 
good  cheer  than  did  her  legitimate  spouse.  But  her 
best  days  were  already  past.  Illness  overtook  her. 
There  were  no  savings.  Jean  Piot,  who  still  ca- 
roused, was  now  no  better  than  an  ordinary  work- 
man, and  sometimes  complained  of  stiff  muscles, 
though  he  continued  to  drive  them  beyond  their 
strength. 

Then  came  stark  poverty.  Alas!  if  the  ability  to 
work  had  diminished,  hunger  and  thirst,  more 
pressing  than  ever,  had  not  ceased  to  claim  their 
dues.  Jean  and  his  wife  asked  first  one  favour  of 
their  neighbours,  then  another,  and  when  they  had 
worn  these  out  they  applied  to  their  friends,  finally  to 
strangers.  Thus  they  passed  by  a  scarcely  per- 
ceptible transition  from  salaried  pride  to  resigned 
beggary.  Jean  Piot  and  his  Piotte  were  well  thought 
of,  never  having  had  the  reputation  of  being  slug- 
gards. They  had,  to  be  sure,  led  a  merry  life,  fork  and 
glass  in  hand.  But  which  of  their  fellow  labourers 
had  never  been  tempted  to  drown  care  in  the  cup? 
People  helped  them  without  too  bad  a  grace. 
From  time  to  time  they  still  worked  when  an  op- 
portunity came  not  out  of  all  proportion  with  their 


238  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

strength,  sapped  by  work  and  disease  and  white 
wine. 

Slowly,  age  increased  the  inconveniences  of  being 
alive.  In  spite  of  all,  the  two  seemed  happy, 
unmindful  of  the  humiliation  of  begging, — or  some- 
times even  taking  without  having  begged — accepted 
by  all  as  established  parasites,  always  ready  to  lend  a 
hand  if  there  were  pressing  work.  It  is  not  certain 
that,  counting  fairly,  the  collected  gifts  falling  into 
Jean  Piot  and  the  Piotte's  scrip  amounted  to  more 
than  an  equitable  reward  for  services  rendered. 

However  that  might  be,  no  one  seemed  to  com- 
plain of  the  state  of  things  brought  about  by  the 
natural  course  of  events,  when  a  strange  rumour 
came  from  the  county  town.  Jean  Piot  had 
inherited,  it  was  said,  inherited  from  an  unknown 
great  uncle,  who  had  "had  property,"  and  left  to  his 
numerous  relatives  the  task  of  dividing  a  "consider- 
able" sum  among  themselves.  At  this  news,  Jean 
Piot  held  up  his  head,  and  the  Piotte,  going  about 
with  her  crutch,  asked  for  alms  with  a  braver  front. 
Public  opinion  could  but  be  favourably  impressed  by 
the  great  news.  Everybody's  generosity  suddenly 
increased,  to  the  satisfaction  of  both  parties. 

"Well,  and  those  potatoes  that  I  offered  you  the 
other  day?  You  did  not  take  them,  my  good  woman 
— you  must  carry  them  home."  The  Piotte  could 
not  remember  anybody  mentioning  potatoes,  but  she 
trustfully  took  whatever  was  offered.  From  all 


JEAN  PIOT'S  FEAST  239 

sides  gifts  poured  in,  along  with  congratulations  on 
the  wealth  to  come,  which  was  to  raise  the  Piots 
from  the  dignity  of  beggars  to  the  higher  functions 
of  the  idle  living  on  the  labour  of  others.  The  news 
soon  received  confirmation  that  an  inheritance  there 
was,  of  which  Jean  Piot  was  a  beneficiary.  Whether 
large  or  small,  no  one  knew. 

The  heirs  were  said  to  be  numerous,  and  the  most 
contradictory  reports  ran  on  the  subject  of  the 
division.  Jean  Piot  said  nothing  except  "perhaps," 
or  "it  is  not  impossible,"  which  gave  small  satis- 
faction. Everyone  knew  that  he  had  been  to  see  the 
lawyer,  and  that  he  had  seemed  happy  when  he  came 
home.  The  law  does  nothing  quickly.  There  was  a 
long  period  of  waiting,  but  public  generosity  did  not 
weary,  and  Jean  Piot  and  his  Piotte  had  easily  fallen 
into  the  way  of  being  received  as  "the  Lord's  guests." 

Finally,  the  news  burst  upon  the  community 
that  Jean  Piot  had  inherited  500  francs,  all  told. 
The  disappointment  caused  a  violent  reaction, 
and  from  one  day  to  the  next,  the  couple  found 
everywhere  resisting  doors  and  frowning  faces.  But 
Jean  Piot  seemed  not  to  notice  them,  and  before 
long  his  look  of  pleasure  and  his  expressions  of 
satisfaction  gave  rise  to  the  idea  that  there  must  be 
something  more  than  appeared.  "We  do  not  know 
the  whole,"  people  whispered,  and  each,  to  forestall 
the  unknown,  entrenched  himself  in  a  position  of 
benevolent  neutrality. 


«40  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

Five  hundred  francs  was  after  all  something,  and 
as  no  one  supposed  that  Jean  Piot  intended  to  make 
a  three  per  cent,  investment,  many  wondered  if  they 
might  not  draw  some  small  advantage  from  the 
inheritance. 

"Jean,"  said  the  maker  of  wooden  shoes,  "your 
shoes  are  a  sorry  sight.  I  will  make  you  a  pair, 
cheap,  if  you  like." 

No  representative  of  commerce  or  industry  but 
came  with  offers  of  obliging  the  "heir"  with  bargains 
in  his  wares. 

Jean  Piot  shook  his  head,  with  gracious  thanks. 
That  was  not  what  he  wanted. 

Presently  it  was  Monsieur  le  cure's  turn. 

"Jean  Piot,  do  you  ever  give  thought  to  your 
soul?" 

"Why,  of  course,  Monsieur  le  cure,  I  am  a  good 
Christian,  I  think  of  nothing  else." 

"Well,  and  what  do  you  do  to  save  your  soul  from 
the  mighty  blaze  of  hell?  I  never  even  see  you  at 
mass." 

"  That  is  no  fault  of  mine,  Monsieur  le  cure,  I  have 
to  earn  my  living.  You  know  very  well  that  I  go  to 
the  church  door.  On  Sundays  people  are  readier  to 
give  alms  than  on  week  days." 

"You  should  not  work  on  Sundays." 

"No  danger.  I  can't  work  any  more.  Begging  is 
not  work." 

"Do  you  know  what  would  be  a  good  thing  to 


JEAN  PIOT'S  FEAST  241 

do?  You  "ought  to  have  masses  said,  to  redeem 
your  sins." 

"There's  nothing  I  should  like  better.  Will  you 
say  some  for  me?" 

"Good.     How  much  will  you  give  me?" 

"How  much  money?  Does  God  ask  for  money, 
now,  to  save  me  from  hell?  Why,  then,  did  he  not 
give  me  money  to  give  him?" 

"Hush — wretched  man !  You  blaspheme! 

Have  you  not  just  inherited?" 

"Ah,  you  mean  those  five  hundred  francs? 
Wait  a  bit,  Monsieur  le  curt,  you  shall  have  your 
share." 

"You  will  have  masses  said?" 

"No,  I  have  not  enough  for  that." 

"But  for  the  small  sum  of  twenty  francs,  I  will 
say :" 

"Impossible,  Monsieur  le  cure,  it  is  impossible." 

"You  grieve  me,  Jean  Piot.  You  will  die  like  a 
heathen." 

"I  wish  you  a  good  day,  Monsieur  le  cure"." 

When  this  conversation  was  retailed,  everyone 
wondered.  What!  not  even  twenty  francs  to  the 
Church?  Jean  Piot  surely  had  some  plan.  What 
was  he  going  to  do? 

Soon  they  knew,  for  without  solicitation  orders 
began  to  be  placed  with  the  best  tradespeople. 
Jean  Piot  had  engaged  and  paid  for  the  largest 
stable  in  the  village.  Tables  were  being  set  up  in  it, 


242  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

and  covered  with  a  miscellaneous  collection  of 
dishes,  as  if  for  a  Camacho's  banquet,  such  as  was 
never  seen  outside  of  Cervantes*  romance. 

The  two  village  inn  keepers  had  received  gigantic 
orders  for  food  and  drink.  And  Jean  Piot,  his  eyes 
sparkling  with  pride,  went  with  a  kindly  smile  from 
door  to  door,  no  longer  to  beg,  but  to  let  everyone 
know  that  "in  remembrance  of  their  good  friendship" 
he  was  going  to  treat  the  entire  countryside  for 
three  days.  Saturday,  Sunday,  and  Monday  there 
was  feasting,  junketing,  merrymaking — and  every- 
one invited !  There  were  cauldrons  of  soup;  cabbage, 
potatoes,  and  beef  at  will,  and  fish,  and  fowls,  and 
cakes  and  coffee.  As  for  wine,  casks  of  it  were 
tapped,  and  it  was  of  the  best;  on  top  of  that,  little 
glasses  of  spirits,  *'  as  much  as  you  liked." 

Amazement!  Exclamations!  Certainly  Jean 
Piot  was  an  extraordinary  man.  It  was  perhaps 
unwise  to  spend  all  that  money  at  once,  when  he 
must  necessarily  be  penniless  on  the  day  after.  But 
who  was  there  to  blame  him,  when  everybody  was 
taking  his  share  of  the  feast?  Only  the  curS  shook 
his  head,  regretting  his  masses.  But  public  opinion 
was  set  in  Jean  Piot's  favour,  and  not  even  the 
Church  could  swim  against  the  stream. 

At  early  dawn  on  Saturday  Jean  Piot  and  the 
Piotte  settled  themselves  in  the  middle  seats  at  the 
table  of  honour,  and  the  crowd  having  flocked 
thither  in  then*  best  attire,  fell  upon  the  victuals, 


JEAN  PIOT'S  FEAST  243 

and  washed  them  down  with  generous  potations. 
At  first  they  were  too  happy  to  speak,  but  how 
everybody  loved  everybody  else!  How  glad  they 
were  to  say  so!  On  all  sides  handshaking — on  all 
sides  affectionate  embraces — on  all  sides  cries  of 
joy !  And  for  Jean  Piot  and  his.  Piotte,  what  kind 
and  laudatory  expressions!  What  admiration! 

During  three  days  the  enormous  festival  took  its 
tumultuous  course,  amid  the  muffled  crunching  of 
jaws,  the  gurgling  of  jugs  and  bottles,  mingled  with 
laughter  and  shouts  and  songs.  Women,  children, 
old  people — everyone  gorged  himself  immoderately. 
When  evening  came,  young  and  old  danced  to  the 
music  of  fiddles.  The  church,  alas,  was  empty  on 
Sunday,  and  when  the  cure  came  to  fetch  his  flock — 
God  forgive  me! — they  made  him  drink,  and  he, 
enkindled  and  set  up,  pressed  Jean  Piot's  two  hands 
warmly  to  his  heart.  All  the  mean  emotions  of 
daily  life  were  forgotten,  wiped  away  from  the  soul 
by  this  great  human  communion.  Tramps  who  were 
passing  found  themselves  welcomed,  stuffed  to 

capacity,  beloved And  when  the  evening  of  the 

third  day  fell,  not  a  soul  was  there  to  mourn  the 
too  early  close  of  an  epic  so  glorious.  The  entire 
village,  exhausted,  was  asleep  and  snoring,  fortifying 
itself  by  dreams  to  meet  the  gloomy  return  to  life's 
realities. 

When  his  heavy  drunkenness  was  dispelled,  Jean 
Piot  realized,  for  the  first  thing,  that  the  Piotte's 


244  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

sleep  would  have  no  awakening.  Congestion  had 
done  for  her.  He  had  on  the  subject  philosophical 
thoughts  to  which  he  did  not  give  utterance  for  fear 
of  being  misunderstood.  In  the  depth  of  his  heart  he 
felt  that  neither  of  them  had  any  further  reason  for 
living,  since  they  had  fully  lived. 

And  so,  when,  left  alone,  he  saw  gradual  oblivion 
close  over  the  imposing  revel  of  which  he  had  been 
the  hero,  when  the  current  of  life  swept  ever  farther 
and  farther  from  him  that  tiny  fraction  of  humanity 
which  made  up  his  universe,  when  countenances 
darkened  at  sight  of  him,  when  doors  closed  and 
when  he  was  reproached  with  having  "wasted  his 
substance" — he  was  not  surprised,  and  without  a 
murmur  accepted  the  inevitable. 

For  days  and  days  he  remained  stretched  on  his 
straw,  quiet,  even  happy,  it  seemed,  but  without 
anything  to  eat.  He  starved,  it  is  said. 

Two  days  before  his  death,  the  cure  had  come  to 
see  him. 

"Well,  Jean  Piot,  my  friend,  do  you  repent  of 
your  sins?" 

"Oh,  yes,  Monsieur  le  cure!" 

"You  remember  when  I  proposed  to  say  masses 
for  you?  If  you  had  listened  to  me,  you  would  not 
to-day  be  suffering  remorse." 

"And  why  should  I  suffer  remorse,  Monsieur  le 
cure?  I  have  done  no  harm  to  anybody.  You 
see,  I  quite  believe  that  the  next  world  is  beautiful, 


JEAN  PIOT'S  FEAST  245 

as  you  say  it  is,  but  I  wanted  my  share  of  this  world. 
And  I  had  it.  Rich  people  have  theirs.  It  would 
not  have  been  fair  otherwise.  Ah,  I  can  say  that  I 
was  as  happy  as  any  rich  man,  not  for  so  long,  that  is 
all.  And  what  does  that  matter,  since  it  must  end 
sometime  anyhow?  Do  you  remember?  You  drank 
a  glass,  and  you  took  both  my  hands,  just  as  if 
I  had  been  a  rich  man,  Monsieur  le  cure.  We  were 
like  two  brothers.  If  you  cannot  say  a  mass  for  me 
without  money,  surely  you  will  remember  me  in  your 
prayers,  will  you  not?" 

"I  promise  to,  Jean  Piot,"  said  the  cure,  who  had 
grown  thoughtful. 


THE  TREASURE  OF  ST.  BARTHOLEMEW 


XX 

THE  TREASURE  OF  ST.  BARTHOLEMEW 

ST.  BARTHOLEMEW  is  a  village  in  the 
Creuse,  whose  exact  location  I  abstain  from 
indicating  lest  I  disturb  a  peaceful  commu- 
nity by  calling  up  unpleasant  memories.  St.  Bar- 
tholemew  is  a  village  like  any  other.  It  has  its 
main  street,  with  old  sagging  houses  huddled  one 
against  the  other;  here  and  there,  the  discordant 
note  of  a  new  building  with  wrought-iron  gateway 
and  gateposts  topped  by  cast-iron  vases.  There 
are  streets  running  at  right  angles,  oozy  with  sewage, 
littered  with  manure,  where  numerous  chickens 
scratch  for  their  living.  There  are  little  gardens 
ornamented  with  bright  shiny  balls,  reflecting  people 
and  things,  and  making  them  look  ugly  at  close  range, 
beautiful  in  the  distance,  even  as  our  eyes  do. 

As  far  as  I  have  ever  been  able  to  judge,  the 
inhabitants  of  St.  Bartholemew  differ  in  no  wise 
from  those  of  other  villages.  There,  as  everywhere 
in  the  world,  people  are  born,  they  live,  and  they  die, 
without  knowing  exactly  why,  and  without  arriving 
at  any  reasonable  explanation  of  the  strange  event. 
They  seem,  however,  quite  untroubled  by  the  diffi- 

249 


250  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

culty  of  the  problem.  When  they  come  into  the 
world,  their  first  business  is  to  lament.  All  their 
life  long,  they  lament  over  the  labour  involved  in  pre- 
serving their  lives,  but  when  it  comes  to  dying,  they 
cannot  make  up  their  minds  to  it  without  lamenta- 
tion! What  bonds  hold  them  so  closely  to  earth? 
Although  "gifted  with  reason,"  they  could  not  tell 
you.  What  do  they  see  beyond  the  fatal  impulsion 
which  sets  men  at  odds  in  a  fierce  struggle  for  life, 
the  results  of  which  seem  uncommensurate  with 
the  effort  expended?  They  have  no  idea.  Man 
comes  into  collision  with  brutal  fact,  and  can  see 
nothing  beyond  a  conflict  of  interests.  Three  per- 
sons there  are,  having  a  direct  action  upon  him!  the 
curl,  the  mayor,  and  the  rural  guard,  whose  injunc- 
tion will  bring  him  to  court. 

The  curS  is  the  purveyor  of  ideals  appointed  by  the 
government.  His  church,  with  its  pictures,  its 
gilded  candlesticks,  its  tapers,  and  its  anthems,  con- 
stitutes the  only  manifestation  of  art  furnished  by  the 
powers.  It  provides,  in  addition,  a  body  of  doc- 
trine, texts,  and  uplifting  admonitions,  the  mis- 
fortune of  which  is,  that  although  everyone  repeats 
them,  no  one  pays  any  attention  to  them.  The 
practice  of  the  cult  seems  to  be  the  important  thing. 
As  to  the  precepts  of  which  that  same  cult  is  the  sup- 
port, everyone  applies  them  to  suit  himself.  Gifts 
of  money,  a  mechanical  deathbed  repentance,  set 
the  sinner  on  good  terms  with  the  Master  of  the  Be.* 


THE  TREASURE  251 

yond.  With  regard  to  the  common  events  of  life, 
Lourdes  and  St.  Anthony  of  Padua  will  attend  to 
them  for  a  consideration. 

As  the  curS  fills  the  office  of  God's  mayor  on  earth, 
so  the  mayor  and  the  rural  guard  are  the  curbs  of 
that  far-away  terrestrial  divinity  called:  "the 
Government."  What,  exactly,  that  word  means,  no 
one  has  the  necessary  learning  to  explain.  All  that 
is  known  (and  nothing  further  is  required),  is  that 
it  is  a  mysterious  power,  as  implacable  as  the  Other, 
and  that  one  cannot  even  acquire  merit  with  it  by 
offering  one's  money  willingly,  for  it  has  liberty  to 
force  open  doors  and  drawers  and  take  at  its  con- 
venience. No  one  loves  it,  by  whatever  fine  name  it 
may  call  itself,  for  it  has,  like  the  Other,  a  court  of 
demons,  a  fierce  company  of  bailiffs,  attorneys, 
judges,  and  jailers,  cruel  and  vindictive  toward  poor 
people  who  have  the  misfortune  to  displease  it.  This 
conception  of  the  social  order  may  not  express  a  very 
elevated  philosophy,  but  it  has  the  great  advantage 
of  being  exactly  adapted  to  the  tangible  realities  of 
daily  life. 

If  it  were  objected  that  at  election  time  the  "sov- 
ereign (!)  voter"  might  feel  that  he  himself  is  the 
Government,  I  should  answer  that  he  does  not  feel  it 
for  the  simple  reason  that  it  is  not  so.  To  make 
it  true,  an  understanding  of  things  and  conditions 
would  be  neceessary,  which  the  law  may  presuppose, 
but  which  it  has  not  so  far  been  able  to  bring  about, 


252  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

either  among  the  people,  or,  for  the  greater  part, 
among  the  delegates  of  the  people.  Promises,  of 
course,  have  not  been  wanting,  but  what  has  fol- 
lowed? One  is  put  in  mind  of  a  flock  of  sheep,  given 
their  choice  of  tormentors,  and  as  the  personal  inter- 
est of  each,  clear  and  conspicuous,  comes  before  the 
incomprehensible  * 'general  interest"  (a  Pandora's 
box,  concealing  so  many  things!)  the  representative 
whom  it  is  good  to  elect  is  the  one  who  will  tear  up  the 
greatest  number  of  legal  summonses  and  sub- 
stitute for  them  the  greatest  number  of  office  holders' 
receipts  and  tobacconist  shops. 

It  will  be  admitted,  I  fancy,  that  the  spiritual 
condition  of  St.  Bartholemew,  as  shown  in  all  this, 
does  not  greatly  differentiate  it  from  the  rural  com- 
munities known  to  each  one  of  us.  The  special 
attribute  of  the  place,  aside  from  its  excellent  cur&, 
and  no  less  excellent  mayor,  was  that  it  boasted  a 
"fool."  To  be  sure,  St.  Bartholemew's  was  not  the 
usual  village  fool.  He  was  not  one  of  those  fantastic 
creatures  in  novels,  who,  happening  on  the  scene 
at  the  right  moment,  save  the  virtuous  maiden,  and 
bring  the  villain  to  punishment  before  he  has  carried 
out  his  dark  designs.  No.  He  was  a  thickset 
dwarf,  with  a  bestial,  twisted  face,  whose  peculiarity 
was  that  he  never  spoke.  "Yes,"  and  "no"  formed 
his  entire  vocabulary.  This  viaticum  was,  however, 
sufficient  to  ensure  his  worldly  prosperity,  given  his 
notions  of  prosperity.  His  mother,  who  had  been 


THE  TREASURE  253 

something  of  a  simpleton  herself,  and  whom  the 
birth  of  the  dwarf  had  firmly  established  in  the  char- 
acter of  a  "witch,"  had  had  him,  she  said,  by  a  pass- 
ing travelling  salesman.  The  adventure  was  in  no 
way  novel,  but  the  appearance  of  the  dwarf  caused 
the  more  superstitious  to  believe  that  her  travelling 
salesman  travelled  for  the  house  of  Satan! 

This  might  have  prejudiced  the  community  against 
"Little  Nick,"  as  the  simpleton  was  called,  had  he 
not  been  gifted  with  more  than  ordinary  muscular 
strength,  which  impelled  him  to  hurl  himself  with 
hyena  howls  upon  any  one  refusing  him  a  bowl  of 
soup,  or  straw  to  lie  on  in  the  stable.  Beside  which, 
a  strange  lust  for  work  possessed  the  diabolically 
gnarled  body.  Hard  physical  labour  was  joy  to  Little 
Nick.  He  worked  gladly  at  any  occupation  whatso- 
ever, even  showing  rudiments  of  art  as  a  carpenter 
or  a  blacksmith,  which  had  given  rise  to  the  sus- 
picion "that  he  was  not  as  stupid  as  he  wished  to 
be  thought."  But  as  he  worked  for  the  love  of  it, 
and  never  demanded  payment,  he  was  universally 
judged  to  be  an  "idiot,"  which  did  not  keep  the 
farmers  from  contending  for  his  favours. 

The  mother  lived  "from  door  to  door,"  begging 
her  bread.  People  gave  to  her  chiefly  from  fear  of 
her  "casting  an  evil  spell"  upon  them.  But  Little 
Nick  was  everywhere  received  with  open  arms. 
A  piece  of  bread  and  three  potatoes  are  not  extrava- 
gant pay  for  a  day's  work  from  a  man,  and  Little 


254  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

Nick  was  as  good  as  two  men.  From  time  to  time 
he  was  given  an  old  pair  of  trousers,  or  a  torn  waist- 
coat, when  his  too-primitive  costume  might  have  dis- 
graced his  fellow  workers;  on  winter  evenings  he 
had  his  place  in  the  firecorner  and  good  straw  to 
sleep  on  in  the  stable  smelling  of  the  friendly  beasts. 

The  legend  ran,  I  must  add,  if  I  am  to  be  a  faith- 
ful reporter,  that  Little  Nick  had  sometimes  taken 
shepherdesses  unawares  in  thickets  or  rocky  soli- 
tudes. The  victims  of  the  "accident,"  if  there  had 
really  been  any  such,  made  no  boast  of  it,  and  the 
dumb  boy  was  impeccably  discreet.  It  is  certain 
that  Little  Nick  cast  upon  rustic  beauty  tender 
glances  which  made  him  more  grotesque  still. 
Young  women  ran  from  him  with  grimaces  of  dis- 
gust and  cries  of  horror  which  he  did  not  resent. 
The  young  men  were  more  reserved,  out  of  respect 
for  his  formidable  fists. 

Everything  considered,  Little  Nick  was  one  of 
the  happiest  among  mortals,  practicing  without 
effort  the  maxim  of  the  wise,  which  is  to  limit  one's 
desire  to  one's  means,  and  conceiving  no  destiny 
finer  than  that  with  which  a  kind  Providence  had  fitted 
him.  And  what  proof  is  there  that  his  fellow  citi- 
zens in  St.  Bartholemew  "were  mentally  so  very 
superior  to  him?  Was  it  the  part  of  wisdom  to 
seek,  or  to  despise,  money?  The  entire  village  was 
engaged  in  a  bitter  struggle  for  gain,  and  the  hardest 
worker  rarely  escaped  want  in  old  age.  Little  Nick 


THE  TREASURE  255 

worked  for  the  sole  pleasure  of  using  his  strength, 
and  without  any  effort  of  his  the  rarest  good  for- 
tune befell  him. 

The  witch  having  been  found  dead  one  morning, 
was  expedited  to  the  cemetery  with  a  more  than 
usual  perfunctory  recommendation  from  the  Church 
to  the  Saints  in  Paradise.  Little  Nick,  who  had  been 
sent  for,  found  half  a  dozen  neighbours  in  his  hovel 
"taking  stock"  of  his  property.  He  was  looking 
about  the  empty  place  without  a  word,  when  a  chest 
being  moved  aside,  a  stone  was  exposed  to  view, 
which  had  every  appearance  of  having  recently  been 
lifted.  A  spade  inserted  under  the  edge  disclosed 
a  hoard  of  gold:  a  very  burst  of  sunshine.  With  a 
single  cry,  all  hands  were  outstretched.  But  the 
warm  emanation  of  the  metal,  inflaming  the  desire 
of  all,  had  also  waked  up  Little  Nick.  With  three 
blows  he  had  thrust  everyone  aside,  with  three  kicks 
he  had  emptied  the  house.  Half  an  hour  later,  the 
entire  village  stood  in  front  of  his  locked  and  bolted 
door,  waiting  for  the  miracle  that  must  issue  from 
it.  The  gossips,  surrounded  by  the  gaping  populace, 
made  their  report:  "A  great  hole  full  of  gold!  How 
much  could  there  be?  Ten  thousand  francs,  at  least," 
said  some.  "Twenty,  thirty,"  declared  others. 

"It  would  not  surprise  me  if  there  were  100,000," 
opined  one  old  woman. 

"And  then,  we  did  not  see  what  might  be  under 
other  stones •" 


256  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

"It  must  be  the  Devil's  money,'*  said  the  sexton. 
"I  wouldn't  take  it  if  it  were  given  to  me." 

"Nor  I,"  said  another. 

"Nor  I." 

"Nor  I." 

Everyone  disdainfully  refused  what  was  not  of- 
fered him. 

"All  the  same,"  said  a  peasant,  "I  am  his  nearest 
relative,  I  am  his  guardian." 

"You  are  not!"  said  another,  "It  is  I  who  am  his 
guardian ! " 

And  the  discussion  was  soon  followed  by  a  quarrel, 
concerning  a  relationship  which  no  one  had  ever  be- 
fore thought  of. 

Presently  the  door  opened,  and  Little  Nick  ap- 
peared. 

"Good  morning,  Little  Nick,  it  is  I,  your  good 
friend  Pierre." 

"No,  it  is  I,  Jean,  you  know  me,  I  am  your  uncle." 

"No,  it  is  I,  Matthew,  you  remember  that  good 
soup  I  gave  you.  Come  with  me.  You  shall  have  a 
big  piece  of  bacon." 

"Come  with  me!"     "Come  with  me!" 

What  a  lot  of  friends!  Little  Nick  growls  with 
anger,  and  energetically  motions  them  all  to  be  gone. 
They  obey,  each  meaning  to  return  later. 

On  the  following  day,  the  many  "guardians"  be- 
take themselves  to  the  justice  of  peace  to  explain 
matters,  and  lay  claim  to  their  "rights." 


THE  TREASURE  257 

The  magistrate  comes. 

"Little  Nick,  you  have  some  gold  pieces?'* 

"Yes." 

"Will  you  tell  me  where  you  have  put  them?" 

"No." 

They  rummage  everywhere,  and  find  nothing. 
Little  Nick  has  spent  the  day  in  the  woods.  Doubt- 
less he  has  buried  his  treasure  there.  They  will  fol- 
low him  and  discover  his  hiding  place.  They  must 
wait  until  then. 

But  already  the  "guardians"  are  wrangling  over 
Little  Nick,  who  does  not  know  which  to  listen  to. 
The  cleverest  among  them  suggests  his  unloading  a 
cart  of  manure  for  him.  That  means  pleasure. 
Little  Nick  runs  to  it,  and  having  finished  his  task 
finds  himself  seated  at  the  table  before  a  dish  of  bacon 
and  cabbage,  beside  his  new  cousin  "Phemie." 

Phemie  is  a  blonde.  Phemie  has  blue  eyes.  Phemie 
has  fresh,  rosy  cheeks,  and  large  caressing  hands 
with  which  to  fondle  her  "dear  little  cousin,"  pro- 
moted to  the  dignity  of  "Nicholas."  The  "guard- 
ian "  obligingly  retires  after  supper,  leaving  the  two 
"cousins"  to  make  acquaintance.  Phemie  pours 
out  a  glass  of  a  certain  white  wine  for  "Nicholas." 

On  the  following  day  the  acquaintance  has  pro- 
gressed so  well  that  Nicholas  has  no  desire  to  leave. 
He  has  found  his  real  guardian.  Evil  tongues  are 
busy,  but  Phemie  holds  on  to  Nicholas  and  will  never 
let  go. 


258  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

"Have  you  some  beautiful  gold  pieces?"  she  some- 
times whispers  in  his  ear. 

"Yes." 

"Will  you  tell  me  where  they  are?" 

"No." 

But  this  "no"  is  feeble,  and  when  Phemie  adds: 
"If  you  don't  tell  me,  I  sha'n't  love  you  any  more," 
Nicholas,  by  an  expressive  dumb  show  lets  it  be 
known  that  above  all  things  he  wishes  to  be  loved. 

Months  pass,  and  years.  Little  Nick  lives  in  an 
ecstasy  of  bliss.  His  pleasure  in  work  is  less  keen. 
But  evidently  he  has  compensations,  for  the  fair 
Phemie  is  always  with  him.  It  is  now  five  years 
since  the  witch  rendered  up  her  soul  to  the  Devil. 
Not  a  day  has  passed,  not  a  night,  without  Phemie 
questioning  Little  Nick  about  the  treasure.  The 
"Beast's"  resistance  has  weakened  to  the  point  that 
when  the  "Beauty"  asks  him:  "Will  you  show  me 
where  the  gold  pieces  are?"  he  now  answers  "Yes." 

"Come,  let  us  go,"  says  Phemie,  redoubling  her 
caresses. 

Little  Nick  motions  to  her  to  wait,  but  sometimes 
he  takes  a  few  steps  in  the  supposed  direction  of  the 
treasure,  and  Phemie  is  convinced  that  she  will  soon 
finally  wrest  from  him  the  secret  of  the  undiscover- 
able  hiding  place. 

It  is  high  time,  for  the  woods  around  St.  Bar- 
tholemew  are  incessantly  being  searched  by  the  vil- 
lagers, and  if  Little  Nick  does  not  make  up  his  mind  to 


THE  TREASURE  259 

speak,  Phemie  may  be  the  victim  of  "thieves/*  for 
the  gold  pieces  are  hers,  are  they  not?  She  has  surely 
earned  them !  Already,  as  soon  as  a  peasant  buys  a 
piece  of  property,  everyone  wonders  whether  he  may 
not  have  found  the  St.  Bartholemew  treasure. 

Finally  Phemie  has  an  idea.  She  has  noticed 
that  when  she  accompanies  Little  Nick  on  his  walks 
he  avoids  the  river.  She  leads  him  thither,  saying: 
"Let  us  go  and  have  a  look  at  the  gold  pieces." 

Mechanically,  Little  Nick  says  "Yes"  and  obe- 
diently follows  her. 

When  they  have  reached  the  wildest  spot,  "Is 
it  here?"  asks  she,  pointing  at  a  cavity  among  the 
rocks,  covered  over  with  bushes. 

"No,"  says  Little  Nick. 

"Up  there,  then,"  she  pursues,  pointing  at  a  sharp 
rock  by"  the  water's  edge. 

"Yes." 

"Come." 

And  both  of  them,  helping  themselves  with  feet 
and  knees  and  hands,  torn  by  the  brambles  and 
jagged  edges,  climb  the  steep  slope  to  the  top. 

"There?"  breathes  Phemie,  panting. 

"Yes." 

And  Little  Nick,  lying  flat,  hanging  over  the  abyss, 
extracts  from  an  invisible  hole  in  the  rock,  where  it 
makes  a  straight  wall  to  the  river,  a  handful  of  gold 
pieces,  which  he  flings,  laughing,  at  his  beloved. 

There  is  a  frightful  scream.     Phemie,  mad  with 


260  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

rage,  rises  like  a  fury  lusting  for  vengeance.  The 
gold  pieces  are  pasteboard,  ironical  gift  of  the  travel- 
ling salesman  to  the  "witch,"  to  overcome  her  last 
resistance,  and  heritage  of  Nicholas,  from  which,  it 
cannot  be  denied,  the  "simpleton"  has  drawn  his 
profit. 

"Beast!  Beast!"  shouts  Phemie,  foaming  at  the 
mouth. 

And  as  Nicholas  tries  to  rise,  she  pushes  him  over 
the  edge.  He  loses  his  balance,  but  clinging  to 
Phemie's  skirt,  drags  her  with  him. 

The  river  is  deep  in  that  spot.  Neither  of  them 
could  swim. 

Their  bodies  were  found  at  the  foot  of  the  rock,  and 
the  pasteboard  gold  pieces  scattered  on  the  summit, 
whence  their  footprints  showed  that  they  had  fallen. 

"A  trick  of  the  Devil!"  said  the  peasants. 

And  there  was,  to  be  sure,  something  in  that. 


A  HAPPY  UNION 


XXI 

A  HAPPY  UNION 

THERE  are  happy  marriages,  whatever  novel- 
ists say.  There  are  married  couples  who  love 
each  other,  and  live  happily  together  to  the 
end  of  their  days.  The  conditions  of  this  happiness, 
the  circumstances  of  this  harmony  may  not  always, 
perhaps,  be  such  as  one  solely  interested  in  the 
esthetic  aspects  of  society  might  advocate.  But 
what  can  we  do?  For  many  centuries  there  is  no 
virtue  but  the  loftiest  minds  have  commended  it  to 
the  world  with  arguments  as  attractive  in  form  as 
they  have  been  sublime  in  purport.  And  have  they 
changed  us?  What  is  the  history  of  the  past  if 
not  the  history  of  to-day? 

There  are  happy  unions.  There  are  unions  mid- 
dling happy.  And  there  are  unhappy  unions.  "I 
alone  know  where  my  shoe  pinches,"  said  a  cele- 
brated American,  when  congratulated  upon  his  happy 
home.  Men  or  women,  great  numbers  can  say  the 
same,  for  Providence  seems  not  to  have  cared  to  shoe 
us  all  according  to  our  measurements.  Our  subse- 
quent behaviour  is  the  important  thing.  Advice  on 
this  point  is  not  lacking,  which  is  not  surprising,  since 

263 


264  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

we  have  expressly  entrusted  to  a  corps  of  celibates 
the  direction  of  domestic  life,  and  the  instruction  of 
man  and  wife  separately  in  the  most  secret  details 
of  a  relation  which,  by  his  very  profession,  the  in- 
structor cannot  practically  know. 

The  authority  of  this  advice  being  all  that  gives 
it  interest,  each  takes  as  much  of  it  as  he  sees  fit, 
and  goes  on  doing  what  he  pleases.  One  cries  out 
and  the  other  is  silent.  One  philosophically  resigns 
himself  to  limping  all  the  way  to  the  grave.  An- 
other prefers  amputation  and  the  hope  of  compara- 
tive comfort  with  a  wooden  leg.  Who  is  right  and  who 
is  wrong?  Let  him  decide  who  has  attained  cer- 
tainty in  such  matters.  As  for  me,  all  I  dare  affirm 
is  that  it  is  easier  to  theorize  than  to  prove,  consid- 
ering the  variety  of  the  problems  and  the  complexity 
of  the  psychology  in  which  their  solution  might  be 
found. 

Let  me,  by  way  of  example,  briefly  sketch  the 
history,  as  simple  as  it  is  true,  of  the  happiest  couple 
I  have  ever  known.  I  will  admit  that  it  is  not  a  tale 
proper  for  publication  in  a  Manual  of  Morals. 
Rarely  do  bare  facts,  unembellished  by  fiction, 
authentically  illustrate  precepts  which  we  are  more 
inclined  to  advocate  than  to  follow.  The  sole  merit 
of  this  tale  is  that  it  is  true,  from  first  to  last.  I 
leave  out  nothing  and  add  nothing.  I  knew  the 
people.  I  kept  them  in  sight  all  along  the  hard  road 
that  led  them  from  crime  to  perfect  conjugal  felicity. 


A  HAPPY  UNION  265 

I  am  not  attempting  to  prove  any  theory.  I  am 
telling  what  I  have  known  and  seen. 

Adele  was  a  handsome  girl  according  to  country 
esthetics.  Large,  strong,  of  brilliant  colouring, 
with  a  mop  of  tangled  red  hair  and  iron-gray  eyes 
which  never  dropped  before  those  of  any  man.  She 
helped  her  father,  Girard  the  fishmonger,  to  carry 
on  his  business.  In  a  lamentable  old  broken-down 
cart,  behind  a  small,  knock-kneed  horse,  who  knew 
no  gait  but  a  walk,  Girard  would  set  out  at  nightfall 
for  Lugon,  the  large  town,  and  come  back  in  time  to 
sell  his  fish  before  midday.  Immediately  upon  ar- 
rival, the  fishmonger,  his  wife  and  their  children,  each 
loaded  with  a  basket  of  shell  fish,  mullet,  sole,  and 
whiting,  packed  under  sticky  seaweed,  would  dis- 
perse over  the  village,  the  outlying  hamlets,  the 
farms,  and  peddle  their  wares. 

This  trade  entails  much  travelling  about  and  see- 
ing many  people.  Bold,  and  pleasant  to  the  eye, 
Adele  was  welcomed  everywhere.  No  speech  or 
behaviour  from  the  country  lads  was  likely  to  fluster 
her.  Peasants,  who  are  no  more  obtuse  than  city 
men,  have  long  since  recognized  the  value  in  business 
of  an  agreeable  young  person  to  attract  trade.  Any 
country  inn  that  wants  to  prosper  must  first  adorn 
itself  with  a  pretty  servant.  There  is  everywhere  a 
demand  for  beauty.  For  lack  of  anything  better,  men 
will  philosophically  fall  back  upon  ugliness.  Life  takes 
upon  itself  to  accommodate  almost  everybody. 


266  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

Adele,  not  being  one  of  those  young  women  who  are 
only  chosen  when  there  is  scarcity,  early  became  the 
blessing  of  her  family.  The  fish  in  her  basket 
seemed  to  leap  of  its  own  accord  into  the  frying  pan, 
although  the  pretty  wheedler  took  pride  in  selling  it 
at  a  high  price.  Any  chance  meeting  on  the  road 
furnished  occasion  for  selling  her  wares.  Often  a 
kiss  was  added  as  a  premium.  Occasionally  some- 
thing more.  What  she  lost  or  what  she  won  at  this 
game  would  to-day  be  hard  to  reckon.  On  Sunday, 
at  the  fair,  she  exhibited  herself  in  fine  attire  and 
ornaments:  these  were  her  profit.  Her  name  ran 
from  mouth  to  mouth  accompanied  by  tales  to  which 
public  malice  did  not  always  need  to  add  lies:  this 
was  her  loss.  But  far  from  being  disturbed  by  the 
"chronique  scandaleuse"  she  insolently  gloried  in  it, 
declaring  that  the  hard-favoured  meddlers  would 
have  been  altogether  too  happy  had  she  found  a 
chance  to  talk  scandal  about  them. 

"When  they  are  done  tattling,  they  will  stop," 
she  used  to  say. 

Which  proved  true.  So  that  one  day,  when  there 
was  nothing  else  that  Adele  could  do  to  astonish 
people,  the  report  spread  that  she  was  about  to  be- 
come the  legitimate  wife  of  Hippolyte  Morin,  the  shoe- 
maker. I  must  add  that  the  event  was  accepted 
by  all  as  a  decent  ending  to  a  tempestuous  youth. 

"He  will  certainly  beat  her,"  thought  the  women, 
when  they  saw  Morin's  infatuation. 


A  HAPPY  UNION  267 

"He  will  not  make  a  troublesome  husband,"  said 
the  men,  as  they  looked  at  the  sallow  and  weakly 
though  choleric  shoemaker. 

Public  approval  was  therefore  unanimous.  The 
circumstances  of  the  marriage  were  simple.  Girard 
owed  Morin  500  francs,  and  could  not  even  manage 
to  pay  the  interest  on  them.  Seeing  his  creditor 
prowling  with  smouldering  eyes  about  the  stalwart 
Adele,  he  had  proposed  to  him  to  marry  the  girl  and 
give  a  receipted  bill,  and  the  shoemaker,  overjoyed 
at  the  thought  of  possessing  such  a  marvel  all  to  him- 
self, had  gladly  closed  the  bargain.  As  for  Adele, 
she  had  said  yes  without  difficulty,  as  she  had  to  so 
many  others.  Hippolyte  owned  land.  He  was  a 
good  match. 

They  had  a  fine  wedding,  and  for  a  full  half  year 
happiness  appeared  to  reign  in  the  new  establish- 
ment. Six  months  of  fidelity  were  surely,  for  Adele, 
a  sufficient  concession  to  Monsieur  le  Maire's  in- 
junctions. Presently  lovers  reappeared,  to  Morin's 
lively  displeasure.  Adele  was  thrashed,  as  the 
public  had  foreseen.  The  muscular  young  swains 
none  the  less  made  game  of  the  husband,  at  best  a 
puny  adversary,  as  public  opinion  had  equally  fore- 
told. The  worst  of  it  was  that  the  unaccommo- 
dating shoemaker  had  a  way  of  watching  his  rivals 
with  a  vicious  eye,  while  drawing  the  sharp  blade  of 
his  knife  across  the  whetstone.  No  one  in  a  village  is 
afraid  of  kicks  and  blows.  But  no  one  likes  the 


268  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

thought  of  steel  coming  into  play.  And  so,  when  the 
belief  was  established  that  Morin  would  some  day 
"do  something  desperate,"  the  ardour  of  the  follow- 
ers began  to  abate.  They  gradually  dropped  away, 
and  it  was  Adele's  turn  to  experience  the  fiercest  re- 
sentment against  her  sullen  lord. 

Three  years  passed  in  quarrels,  in  hourly  battles. 
There  were  no  children.  Grass  does  not  grow  on 
the  high  road,  as  Michelet  observes.  One  morning 
the  news  ran  that  Morin  was  seriously  ill,  then  that 
he  was  dead.  On  the  day  before,  he  had  been  play- 
ing bowls  without  any  sign  of  ill  health.  The  doc- 
tor who  had  been  sent  for,  shook  his  head  gravely, 
and  asked  to  speak  to  Adele  in  private.  At  the  end 
of  the  interview  the  bystanders  noticed  that  Adele 
kept  out  of  sight,  while  the  doctor,  without  a  word, 
poured  the  contents  of  the  soup  tureen  into  a  jug, 
and  carried  it  away  in  his  gig.  That  evening,  two 
gendarmes  came  to  arrest  "Hippolyte  Morin 's 
wife,"  accused  of  poisoning  her  husband.  Con- 
versations in  the  village  were  not  dull  that  even- 
ing. 

The  inquiry  was  brief.  Bits  of  the  blue  shards  of 
cantharides  floating  among  the  bread  and  potatoes 
in  the  soup  permitted  no  denial.  Adele  confessed 
that  passing  under  an  ash  tree,  and  seeing  some  of 
those  insects  lying  dead  in  the  grass,  she  picked  them 
up,  "to  play  a  joke  on  her  husband."  Later  on, 
after  she  had  been  instructed  by  her  lawyer,  she 


A  HAPPY  UNION  269 

said  that  the  aphrodisiacal  properties  attributed 
to  the  beetle  gave  the  obvious  reason  for  the  matri- 
monial "joke."  But  it  being  proved  that  her  extra- 
conjugal  resources  in  that  line  were  rather  calculated 
to  foster  a  desire  to  rid  herself  of  an  inconvenient 
husband,  the  story  gained  small  credence.  Morin, 
who  had  not  consented  to  die,  was  the  only  witness 
for  the  defence. 

"Of  course  it  was  a  joke,"  he  repeated,  stupidly. 
"The  proof  of  it  is  that  she  had  told  me." 

"And  you  deliberately  took  the  poison?" 

"As  long  as  it  was  a  joke,  of  course  I  did,  your 
Honour." 

The  jury,  which  readily  absolves  husbands  for  a 
too  prompt  use  of  the  revolver  in  the  direction  of 
their  wives,  always  shows  itself  resolutely  hostile 
to  women  who  attempt  to  rid  themselves  of  their 
legitimate  master.  Two  years'  imprisonment  were 
considered  by  the  representatives  of  social  order  a 
just  retribution  for  Adele,  as  well  as  a  practical  in- 
centive to  virtue  in  the  home. 

Morin  returned  to  his  shoes,  grieving  over  his 
long  separation  from  Adele. 

"All  that  was  our  own  affair,"  he  said.  "What 
business  was  it  of  the  judge's?" 

And  many  shared  his  opinion.  A  lot  of  noise 
about  a  "joke!"  Adele  was  too  good  hearted  a  girl 
to  have  aroused  any  deep  hatreds.  As  long  as  Morin 
defended  her,  why  should  others  hurl  obloquy? 


270  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

Husbands  looking  at  their  wives,  and  wives  at  their 
husbands,  mostly  refrained  from  comment.  Morin, 
furthermore,  sure,  now,  of  his  wife's  fidelity  for  at 
least  two  years,  poured  himself  out  in  eulogies  of  the 
great  Adele,  and  declared  that  he  had  often  been  in 
the  wrong. 

"To  whom  did  she  ever  do  any  harm?"  he  would 
ask  everyone  that  came  along. 

"Not  to  me!"     "Not  to  me!"  all  would  answer. 

The  man  had  received  the  gift  of  a  lofty  philosophy 
or  rather,  he  had  a  dim  feeling  that  from  all  this 
"fuss"  a  great  good  might  result  from  his  wife  and 
for  himself. 

"When  she  comes  back,"  he  would  say,  "it  will 
not  be  as  it  was  before." 

"Surely,"  replied  the  others,  "a  little  bad  luck 
gives  one  a  lot  of  sense!" 

"Two  years,  that  is  not  so  much,"  answered 
Morin,  who  was  counting  the  days. 

Meanwhile  Adele  was  silently  sewing  shirts,  and 
vaguely  dreaming.  It  would  never  have  occurred 
to  her  to  complain.  She  even  found  a  certain  con- 
tentment in  this  quiet  after  the  agitations  of  her 
youth.  She  tranquilly  awaited  the  release  which 
would  take  her  back  to  her  friendly  village,  and  to 
that  good  Morin  who  loved  her,  and  whom  she  loved, 
too,  in  spite  of  all  "the  judges  had  done  to  cross 
them,"  as  she  said  after  her  trial.  From  the  very 
first  day,  Morin  placed  to  the  account  of  the  prisoner 


A  HAPPY  UNION  271 

all  the  money  permitted  by  the  regulations.  But 
she  rarely  touched  it,  and  when,  on  his  visits,  he 
urged  her  to  spend  it: 

"I  need  nothing,"  she  would  say.  "Keep  it  for 
yourself,  my  man.  You  must  not  be  ailing  when  I 
come  out  of  jail." 

And  this  allusion  to  the  past  made  them  both 
laugh  in  great  good  humour. 

Finally  the  day  of  liberation  came.  Morin,  as  you 
would  know,  was  on  the  spot  to  fetch  his  wife.  They 
flew  to  each  other's  arms,  laughing  aloud,  for  lack 
of  words  to  express  their  joy.  It  was  Sunday. 
Adele  and  her  husband  reached  home  just  as  mass 
was  over.  In  a  twinkling  they  were  surrounded  by 
the  crowd,  and  acclaimed  like  conquerors.  There 
was  mutual  embracing  and  shedding  of  happy  tears, 
and  asking  of  a  thousand  absurd  questions  from  sheer 
need  to  talk  and  show  how  glad  they  were  to  see  one 
another  again.  Upon  arrival  at  her  house  Adele 
found  the  table  spread;  at  this,  twenty  guests  sat 
down  to  celebrate  her  return  with  proper  ceremony. 
A  grand  feast,  which  lasted  until  daylight.  At 
dessert,  friends  came  in,  and  merest  acquaintances, 
too,  swept  along  by  the  current  of  universal  sym- 
pathy. Bottle  after  bottle  was  emptied.  There 
was  a  great  clinking  of  glasses.  The  women  kissed 
Morin,  and  the  men  Adele.  Never  in  their  lives  was 
there  a  more  wonderful  day. 

And   yet,   from   that   time   forward,   good   days 


272  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

followed  one  another  without  break.  Adele  re- 
mained gay,  easy,  and  approachable,  quick  in  the  up- 
take of  broad  jests,  but  Morin  had  her  heart,  and 
never  was  word  or  deed  charged  to  her  account 
which  could  have  given  umbrage  to  the  most  sus- 
picious husband.  Her  spouse,  proud  of  his  con- 
quest, tasted  the  joys  of  a  well-earned  happiness. 

They  were  during  forty  years  the  model  of  a 
perfect  match.  How  many  of  the  people  around 
them,  with  an  irreproachable  past,  could  boast  an 
advantage  so  rare? 


A  WELL  ASSORTED  COUPLE 


XXII 
A  WELL-ASSORTED  COUPLE 

THEY  were  not  good.     They  were  not  bad. 
They  had  neither  virtues  nor  faults  of  their 
own  from  never  having  done  or  said  anything 
except  in  conformity  with  what  others  were  doing  or 
saying.     Never  had  it  entered  their  minds  to  desire 
anything  on  their  own  initiative.     Nothing  had  ever 
made  them  reflect  upon  themselves,  and  take  a  de- 
cision according  to  an  idea,  whether  good  or  bad, 
that  was  the  result  of  their  own  individuality  rather 
than  "established  opinions." 

He  had  been  born  into  the  cork  business.  She  had 
seen  the  light  of  day  in  the  Elbeuf  cloth  trade.  The 
arrest  of  a  lawyer,  unable  to  return  several  millions 
to  the  people  whom  he  had  deprived  of  them,  united 
their  parents  in  a  common  expression  of  indignation 
against  impecunious  embezzlers.  In  court,  under 
the  eyes  of  the  Christ  who  bids  us  forgive,  and 
amidst  the  encouragements  of  avenging  law,  cork 
and  wool  came  together  to  destroy  the  unfortunate 
lawyer  whose  activities  were  proclaimed  criminal 
because  lacking  the  success  which  would  have  made 
his  reputation^for  integrity.  The  cork  merchant  and 

J275 


276  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

the  cloth  merchant,  both  of  them  noisy  about  their 
small  losses,  conceived  a  "high"  mutual  "esteem," 
which  subsequent  acquaintance  converted  into 
"friendship." 

The  heir  to  corks  was  twenty-three  years  old. 

"A  good  sort  of  boy,"  said  his  father. 

He  was,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  soft,  flabby,  and 
spiritless. 

The  cloth  heiress  had  just  completed  her  twentieth 
year. 

"The  sweetest  child!"  bleated  her  mother. 

The  truth  being  that  the  girl's  inertia  took  the 
impulsion  of  any  movement  near  her. 

They  were  married  after  magnificent  promises  on 
both  sides  of  the  house.  It  later  appeared  that 
the  manufacturer  of  corks  was  on  the  verge  of  fail- 
ure, and  that  the  cloth  business  had  long  since  gone 
into  the  hands  of  a  partner.  As  the  fraud  was  recip- 
rocal, there  could  be  no  reproaches  on  either  side. 
They  remained  "good  friends,"  and  from  the  rem- 
nants of  past  splendour  collected  a  small  capital 
with  which  to  set  up  the  young  couple  in  the  linen 
draper's  business  at  Caen. 

The  two  young  people,  wha  were  equally  well 
fitted  to  manufacture  butter  or  deal  in  building 
stone,  by  scrupulously  adhering  to  the  rules  and 
regulations  established  for  them,  made  a  decent  in- 
come from  their  business.  Their  parents  died, 
rather  fortunately,  before  becoming  a  burden  and 


A  WELI^ASSORTED  COUPLE        277 

after  inculcating  into  them  those  principles  of 
public  and  private  morals  which  would  enable  them 
to  reach  the  end  of  then*  career  without  disaster. 
They  had  two  daughters  whom  they  married  off, 
one  into  "ribbons,"  the  other  into  "hardware," 
while  they  themselves  died,  as  they  had  lived,  in 
"linen." 

"Colourless  lives,"  some  will  remark. 

Not  everyone  can  write  Hamlet,  or  discover  the 
laws  of  universal  gravitation.  The  present  order  of 
nature  stands  upon  a  foundation  of  passive  beings, 
whence,  from  some  combination  of  century-old 
heredities,  springs,  now  and  then,  the  miracle  of 
genius.  What  surprises  for  us,  could  we  examine 
the  authentic  genealogies  of  Shakespeare  and  New- 
ton, and  see  from  what  an  accumulation  of  weak- 
nesses their  strength  emerged! 

The  processus  of  any  human  life  is,  hi  truth,  not 
less  a  marvel.  Only,  from  our  low  level  we  instinc- 
tively look  toward  the  heights.  And  there  is  no  de- 
nying that  the  psychology  of  St.  Francis  of  Assisi 
is  more  interesting  than  that  of  the  ordinary  mortal. 
Still,  if  one  examines  closely,  one  finds  that  the 
"great  man"  is  not  different  in  substance  from  the 
little  man:  the  principal  difference  is  that  hi  the  two 
cases  the  forces  are  differently  related.  Infinite 
are  the  transitional  types  between  the  two  ex- 
tremes, and  all  are  worthy  of  analysis  as  human  sam- 
ples capable  of  furnishing,  according  to  circumstances 


278  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

of  time  and  place,  acts  which  would  remove  them 
from  common  mediocrity. 

What  events  would  have  been  necessary  to  raise 
our  two  linen  drapers  into  the  light  of  glory  I  cannot 
say.  I  should  like  to  believe  that  a  great  tragedy, 
public  or  private,  might  have  called  forth  some  act 
of  sublime  devotion  on  their  part,  and  made  them  il- 
lustrious in  history.  But  I  will  not  conceal  that 
nothing  in  their  speech  or  actions  ever  authorized 
such  a  hope. 

I  speak  of  them  because  I  met  them  on  my  path 
in  life.  I  found  it  entertaining  to  observe  them  as 
curious  specimens  of  the  class  of  human  beings  whose 
passive  mentality  is  close  to  that  of  beasts  of  burden, 
and  who  yet  are  fairly  remarkably  individualized 
in  the  deep  recesses  of  their  inner  life.  Cattle  have, 
without  any  doubt,  ideas  at  the  back  of  their  heads, 
as  is  proved  when  we  see  the  drove  by  tacit  agree- 
ment divide  among  themselves  the  task  of  watching 
all  points  of  the  horizon,  while  with  half-shut  eyes 
they  ruminate  in  the  fields  where  nothing  now  threat- 
ens them — which  performance  is  a  reminder  of  the 
days  when  the  great  carnivorous  enemies  might  at 
any  time  unexpectedly  come  down  upon  them. 
Still,  they  know  but  one  law,  the  goad  that  drives 
them  to  the  plow  or  to  the  shambles.  Bovine 
man  taking  his  part,  with  or  without  reflection,  in  a 
more  complex  life,  develops,  in  addition,  despite 
the  weight  of  his  mental  inertia,  a  considerable  ca- 


A  WELL-ASSORTED  COUPLE         279 

pacity  for  emotion,  for  personal  activity  outside  of 
the  rules  of  action  imposed  upon  him  by  society, 
whether  through  its  laws  or  its  customs. 

The  two  linen  drapers  of  Caen,  seen  in  the  street, 
had  the  commonplace  appearance  of  the  millions  who 
make  up  the  ordinary  stock  of  humanity,  which  is, 
in  fact,  what  they  represented.  The  chief  trouble 
with  professional  psychologists  is  that,  the  better  to 
classify  them,  they  insist  that  men  are  all  alike.  It 
is  not  surprising  that  salient  points  in  character 
should  be  the  first  to  strike  the  observer.  The  deep- 
seated  traits  of  "indeterminate"  personalities  are, 
however,  worthy  of  analysis,  being,  by  the  way  of 
hereditary  combinations,  the  productive  source  of 
characterized  energies. 

Who  will  not  have  concluded  from  the  social  pas- 
sivity of  this  couple,  stupefied  with  "linen,"  that  a 
corresponding  somnolence  prevailed  among  their 
inward  activities?  Yet  these  two  amorphous  crea- 
tures, who  had  unresistingly  taken  the  imprint  of 
surrounding  wills,  lived  a  life  of  their  own,  remote 
from  the  public  eye,  and  felt  seething  in  the  depth  of 
their  being  intense,  at  times  even  violent,  passions, 
which  made  both  the  charm  and  the  torment  of 
their  days. 

Buying  and  selling  linen  had  become  like  a  physi- 
ological function  of  their  organs.  Eating,  drinking, 
sleeping,  and  dealing  in  linen,  were  all  on  the  same 
level  in  their  minds.  Both  man  and  wife  instinc- 


280  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

lively  loved  money,  "because  one  needs  it  in  order 
to  be  honest,"  they  used  to  say,  "honesty,"  to  them, 
meaning  keeping  out  of  prison — but  neither  had  even 
the  moderate  initiative  which  would  have  increased 
their  chances  of  becoming  rich.  After  reaching  a 
medium  degree  of  success  in  their  business,  they 
stood  still,  evenly  balanced  between  indifference  and 
cupidity.  Outside  of  laws  and  customs,  the  opin- 
ion of  the  trade  kept  them  straight,  like  a  steel  cor- 
set. They  went  to  church  because  "it  is  custom- 
ary." They  even  gave  to  the  poor  if  someone  were 
looking,  as  do  so  many  other  charitable  Christians. 
Then,  when  the  doors  were  closed,  and  their  "young 
ladies"  safely  bestowed  in  the  Convent  of  Mercy, 
where  they  had  been  placed  for  the  sake  of  "fine 
connections,  useful  in  the  future,"  they  could  finally 
devote  themselves  to  each  other. 

I  said  that  they  were  neither  good  nor  bad,  mean- 
ing that  they  were  as  incapable  of  useless  malice  as 
of  disinterestedness.  But  the  fact  that  a  moral 
tendency  is  not  expressed  in  action  does  not  make 
the  tendency  any  better.  In  deference  to  the  re- 
quirements of  law  and  "social  propriety"  the  pair 
lived  indissolubly  united.  There  was  no  breaking 
of  marriage  vows.  The  model  wife  was  really  a 
figure  too  far  from  esthetic  to  inspire  a  temptation 
of  a  guilty  thought  in  even  the  most  abandoned  of 
men.  Besides,  all  her  activities  were  centred,  con- 
formably with  the  precepts  of  the  Church  and  the 


A  WELL-ASSORTED  COUPLE          281 

Code,  upon  her  "legitimate  spouse."  As  for  the 
faithful  husband,  he  at  all  times  abstained  from 
"sin,"  whether  temporary  or  permanent,  for  the 
peremptory  reason  that  the  "crime"  was  forbidden 
by  law,  as  well  as  doctrinally  "condemned  by 
morality."  Thus  held  in  check  by  external  barriers, 
there  remained  for  two  souls  so  virtuous  nothing 
but  to  be  absorbed  in  each  other,  and  to  seek  in  the 
intimate  contact  of  their  respective  susceptibilities 
the  satisfaction  of  an  ideal  compatible  with  their 
natures.  This  satisfaction  was  not  denied  them. 
It  was  not  to  be  found  in  love.  They  found  it  hi  a 
powerfully  concentrated  hatred.  When  it  is  the 
dominant  emotion  of  a  life,  execration,  in  a  heart 
convulsed  with  impotence,  may  afford  the  full 
amount  of  violent  sensation  by  which  an  inferior  or- 
der of  humanity  is  reduced  to  replacing  the  joys  of  love. 
Husband  and  wife  hated  each  other  voluptuously, 
hated  each  other  with  a  crafty  ferocity  always  on 
the  alert  to  inflict  more  exquisite  wounds.  And  for 
what  reason?  They  had  perhaps  never  attempted 
to  disentangle  it.  A  mutual  disgust  had  come  upon 
them  in  the  very  first  days  of  their  marriage,  upon 
discovering  the  double  deception  of  the  non-existent 
marriage  portions.  Later  on,  it  is  true,  they  both 
resorted  to  identical  methods  for  decoying  sons-in- 
law;  they  had  none  the  less  taken  pleasure,  from  the 
beginning,  in  secretly  calling  each  other  thieves. 
As,  furthermore,  each  had  a  very  lively  sense  of  the 


282  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

other's  inferiority,  they  mutually  despised  each 
other  for  the  conspicuous  inertia  which  succeeded 
only  in  holding  its  own  in  the  business,  by  the  bal- 
ance of  irresolution  in  their  will. 

If  they  could  have  found  the  courage  occasionally 
to  discharge  the  overflow  of  wrath  that  gathered 
in  the  depths  of  their  mean  souls!  But  the  effort 
involved  with  giving  free  course  to  the  mounting 
flood  of  a  repressed  detestation  was  outside  of  their 
possibilities.  All  they  had  capacity  for  was  silently 
forcing  back  the  desire  to  insult  which  contorted 
their  lips,  thus  aggravating  the  repressed  rage  whose 
seething  constituted  the  bitter  zest  of  life.  A  passion 
too  mighty  for  their  weakness,  impotent  to  control  it. 

Unable  to  expend  in  speech  the  accumulating 
strength  of  their  hatred,  they  found  in  secret  acts  of 
aggression  the  only  remaining  outlet.  How  much 
more  satisfying  than  idle  words  was  the  joy  of  injur- 
ing each  other — outside  of  business,  of  course.  When 
thus  employed,  they  knew  what  the  object  was  of 
their  living!  They  felt  in  those  moments  the  power 
of  the  bond  that  united  them  in  the  only  passion 
for  the  satisfaction  of  which  they  were  necessary  to 
each  other. 

The  details  of  the  petty  warfare  with  which  they 
opened  hostilities  would  fill  a  volume.  There  was,  at 
the  beginning,  a  series  of  light  skirmishes  in  which 
the  first  thrusts  might  have  seemed  due  to  chance, 
had  not  the  one  who  received  them  recognized  them 


A  WELL-ASSORTED  COUPLE         283 

as  hurts  he  would  have  liked  to  deal.  The  kitchen 
furnished  excellent  occasions  for  feminine  attack. 
Too  much  salt  or  pepper,  tainted  meat,  cold  soups, 
were  common  occurrences  during  the  early  days. 
It, would  happen  on  this  particular  day  that  Madame 
was  not  hungry,  while  Monsieur  had  a  good  appetite 
owing  to  the  more  than  frugal  preceding  meal. 
Monsieur  was  not,  however,  defenceless.  Madame 
had  a  "delicate  chest,"  and  dreaded  draughts  above 
everything.  But  she  was  obliged  to  get  used  to 
them  and  resign  herself  to  coughing,  for  by  incredi- 
ble ill  luck  there  was  always  a  door  that  would  not 
close,  or  a  broken  window  pane,  which  obliged  her  to 
live  in  a  perpetual  whirlwind.  To  balance  matters, 
when  caught  in  a  shower,  Monsieur  would  find  his 
umbrella  broken  and  come  home  chilled  through. 
Each  cared  to  excel  in  the  game.  They  invented  a 
thousand  complicated  traps  requiring  careful  prepa- 
ration. One  night,  Madame,  alone  in  bed,  had  her 
legs  scalded  by  the  stopper  suddenly  coming  out  of 
the  hot  water  bottle.  Monsieur  regretted  the  "acci- 
dent," for  he  had  to  do  double  work  in  the  shop  while 
Madame  uncomplainingly  awaited  recovery.  A  short 
time  after,  Monsieur,  jumping  out  of  bed,  cut  his 
foot  on  a  piece  of  glass.  It  was  his  turn  to  limp. 

So  they  continued,  vying  with  each  other,  and 
increasing  in  efficiency.  Madame  seemed  to  have  a 
weakness  for  the  elder  of  her  two  daughters.  Mon- 
sieur preferred  the  younger.  A  fine  battlefield, 


284  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

where  each  could  stab  the  other  through  the  inno- 
cent victim.  The  two  marriages  afforded  occasions 
for  subtle  persecution,  which  ended  in  the  common 
regret  of  feeling  so  good  a  weapon  slip  from  the  tor- 
mentors' hand. 

Left  alone,  face  to  face,  the  two,  having  ex- 
hausted their  whole  arsenal  of  perfidy,  stared  at 
each  other  in  the  stupor  of  a  paroxysm  of  hatred 
that  made  them  powerless  to  renew  their  warfare. 
What  was  to  be  done?  Something  must  be  thought 
of.  Madame  was  the  first  to  hit  upon  it.  Monsieur, 
suddenly  taken  with  a  violent  colic,  passed  in  one 
night  from  life  to  death.  At  the  last  moment  he  had 
a  suspicion.  A  smell  of  matches  was  exhaled  from 
the  decoction  he  had  been  taking.  He  blew  out  the 
candle,  and  saw  phosphorescence  in  the  glass.  In 
the  same  moment  death  throes  convulsed  him  with 
excruciating  pain.  He  could  only  point  out  to  his 
wife  the  damning  evidence,  with  a  single  word,  ac- 
companied by  hideous  laughter. 

"The  guillotine!  the  guillotine!" 

He  died  repeating  it.  Mad  with  terror,  Madame 
fainted.  She  never  regained  consciousness.  The 
terrifying  name  of  the  engine  of  death  fluttered  on 
her  lips  with  her  last  breath. 

The  tragic  beauty  of  this  ending  excited  the  ad- 
miration of  the  entire  town. 

"How  they  loved  each  other!"  people  said.  "Such 
a  well-assorted  couple!" 


LOVERS  IN  FLORENCE 


XXIII 
LOVERS  IN  FLORENCE 

THE  question  of  love  and  marriage  has  mani- 
festly the  most  obsessing  interest  for  human- 
kind.    Presumably  dissatisfied  with  the  ac- 
tual experiences  of  life,  men,   women,  old  people 
and  young,  seek  in  fiction,  in  dreams,  the  unattain- 
able or  the  unattained.     Life  passes.     Those  among 
us  who,  on  the  brink  of  the  grave,  question  themselves 
honestly,  recognize  that  more  chances  of  happiness 
were  offered  them  than  they,  fickle  or  wavering, 
made  shift  to  grasp. 

Our  excellent  ancestors  of  the  "lower"  animal  or- 
der have  a  fixed  period  for  the  joys  of  love,  and  even 
in  monogamy,  as  I  demonstrated  in  the  story  of  my 
pigeons,  do  not  pride  themselves  upon  a  "virtue'* 
beyond  their  power.  The  chief  feature  of  the 
"higher  perfection"  to  which  we  aspire,  in  word  if 
not  in  deed,  seems  to  be  that  we  are  condemned  by 
it  to  an  hypocrisy  born  of  discrepancy  between  the 
ideal  and  our  ability  to  realize  it.  Marriage,  when 
considered  aside  from  its  doctrinal  aspect,  is  found 
to  be  a  fairly  effectual  pledge  against  the  straying 
of  the  imagination  which  is  the  forerunner  of  human 

287 


288  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

weakness.  To  protect  the  weak,  that  is  to  say  the 
woman  and  child,  against  the  caprice  of  the  strong, 
is  assuredly  the  duty  of  society.  But  who  will  claim 
that  marriage,  as  the  law  has  instituted  it,  and  as 
custom  practises  it,  performs  that  office,  and  does 
not  oftener  than  not  result  in  the  triumph,  whether 
just  or  unjust,  of  man?  Have  we  not  heard,  in  the 
discussion  of  the  divorce  law,  one  of  the  chiefs  of  the 
"advanced"  party  lending  his  eloquence  to  the  fur- 
therance of  the  doctrine  of  indissoluble  marriage, 
while  a  famous  radical  argued  that  there  was  no 
equality  between  the  adultery  of  the  husband  and 
that  of  the  wife,  when  viewed  as  a  conjugal  misde- 
meanour justifying  final  separation? 

The  mistake  lies  in  regarding  as  immutable,  and 
acting  upon  it  as  such,  a  thing  that  is,  in  fact,  the 
most  unstable  and  variable  in  the  world,  viz.:  the 
human  being,  hi  perpetual  process  of  change.  To 
ensure  the  durability  of  a  union  for  that  lightning 
flash  which  we  pompously  term  "all  time,"  the  par- 
allel development  of  two  beings  would  be  necessary, 
two  beings  whom  differing  heredities  in  most  cases 
predispose  to  the  most  fatal  divergences.  One  must 
admit  that  the  chance  of  it  is  small. 

I  discussed  this  topic,  only  a  few  days  ago,  with 
a  charming  woman,  made  famous  throughout  Europe 
by  her  art,  who  has  with  the  greatest  dignity  prac- 
ticed that  free  bounteousness  of  self  which  men 
audaciously  claim  as  their  exclusive  prerogative. 


LOVERS  IN  FLORENCE  289 

She  ingenuously  maintained  that  the  act  which  men 
consider  of  no  consequence  when  practised  by  them- 
selves has  no  importance  either  in  the  case  of  woman, 
except  in  the  event  of  maternity. 

"And,"  she  said,  "men  take  advantage  of  this 
iniquitous  law  of  nature,  adding  to  it  a  corresponding 
social  injustice  which  leaves  us  no  choice  except 
between  'honour'  and  liberty.  Fortunately  life  is 
mightier  than  words,  and  women  who  are  not  by 
nature  slaves  will  always  have  the  resource  that 
masculine  vanity  has  so  foolishly  made  attractive 
by  making  of  it  forbidden  fruit." 

"You  assert,  then,"  I  suggested  with  a  certain 
timidity,  "that  all  women  worthy  of  the  name  either 
do  or  should  deceive  their  husbands?  " 

"Oh,  my  assertion  is  merely  that  most  women  if 
deceived  by  their  husbands  have  the  right  to  give 
back  what  they  get.  As  for  those  who  are  unfaith- 
ful to  a  faithful  husband,  I  see  no  reason  for  your  refus- 
ing them  the  initiative  you  grant  to  the  man  who  goes 
out  on  pleasure  bent  while  his  chaste  wife  sits  at  home 
spinning  her  wool,  and  wiping  her  children's]  noses." 

"That  is  practically  what  I  said;  that  any  woman 
with  self-respect " 

" — has  the  same  rights  as  the  man  without  self- 
respect " 

" — and  should  use  them ?" 

" — and  may  use  them  to  suit  herself  with- 
out the  least  shadow  of  remorse." 


290  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

"Complete  liberty,  then,  for  each  to  be  unfaithful 
to  the  other." 

"Proclaim  this  maxim  or  not,  the  world  has  not 
waited  for  you  to  formulate  it  before  putting  it  into 
practice." 

"  You  think,  then,  that  in  reality  most  women  are 
unfaithful  to  then*  husbands?" 

"I  think  that  in  reality  most  men  are  unfaithful 
to  their  wives — and  their  mistresses,  too,  as  soon 
as  the  wife  or  mistress  expects  anything  from  duty, 
even  though  unwritten  duty,  instead  of  the  free 
attraction  of  sentiment  or  of  the  flesh.  I  believe 
that  most  women  who  are  unfaithful  to  their  hus- 
bands are  unfaithful  to  their  lovers  under  the  same 
circumstances,  that  is  to  say  as  soon  as  the  lover  im- 
poses himself  by  the  rights  of — morally — a  husband,  if 
the  combination  of  words  is  admissible.  Worse  than 
that!  As  fast  as  odious  habit  changes  lover  into 
husband,  and  mistress  into  wife,  the  actual  husband, 
who  was  the  lover  in  the  first  days  of  marriage,  and 
the  actual  wife,  who  was  the  legitimatized  mistress 
upon  leaving  the  church  door,  regain  the  ascendency." 

"Too  late." 

"Not  always.  Stop  and  think.  Women  more  or 
less  deceive  their  lovers  with  their  husbands.  That 
is  classic  in  happy  homes." 

"So  one  hears.     But  how  can  one  be  sure?" 

"Hew  many  cases  I  might  quote  to  bear  me  out! 
Shall  I  tell  you  a  case  I  have  recently  known?" 


LOVERS  IN  FLORENCE  291 

"Pray  do." 

"Very  well.  Last  month  in  an  Italian  city " 

"Florence,  naturally,  I  notice  that  you  frequently 
go  there." 

"Yes,  Florence.  A  friend  of  mine,  a  painter,  went 
there  to  live  three  years  ago,  with  his  wife,  a  woman 
who  would  not  perhaps  be  called  beautiful,  but  who 
is  really  full  of  charm  and  grace.  When  my  travels 
bring  me  in  their  neighbourhood  I  never  miss  an 
occasion  to  see  them,  for  we  are  very  old  friends.  He 
and  I,  you  see,  were  young  together  for  six  months. 
He  tells  me  everything,  and  I  tell  him  many  things. 
Philip,  we  will  call  him  that,  if  you  like,  made  a  love 
match  which,  as  it  happened,  was  excellent  from  a 
worldly  standpoint,  too.  They  were  the  most  utterly 
devoted  couple  for  nearly  four  years.  That  is  a  long 
while.  Eighteen  months  ago,  on  one  of  those 
journeys  to  Florence  which  you  have  noticed,  I 
easily  detected  that  Philip's  wife  had  a  lover.  A 
young  fellow,  an  Italian  noble  with  a  great  name 
and  a  slender  purse,  beautiful  as  a  young  wild 
animal  crouching  for  game — well  dressed,  though 
not  as  quietly  as  could  be,  with  a  pretty  talent 
for  sculpture,  which  he  had  the  good  sense  never 
to  mention.  Their  art  had  brought  the  two  men 
together,  and  Alice — we  will  take  the  chances  of  call- 
ing Philip's  wife  by  that  name — had,  I  do  not  know 
exactly  how,  come  under  a  new  attraction,  the 
strength  of  which  increased  as  time,  through  the 


292  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

monotony  of  habit,  blunted  the  formerly  supreme 
charm  of  her  husband. 

"On  his  side,  Philip  had  gradually  returned  to 
studio  'affairs,'  giving  as  an  excuse  his  research 
after  forms,  attitudes,  and  colours,  during  that  relax- 
ing of  the  body  which  follows  the  strain  of  the 
model's  pose,  and  is  like  life  after  death.  He  con- 
fessed all  this  to  me  without  reserve,  obviously 
satisfied  that  his  wife,  whose  'angelic  sweetness' 
and  'tact'  he  could  not  sufficiently  praise — was 
willing  to  leave  him  a  free  field  for  his  fancies. 

'"I  still  love  her!'  he  said,  in  all  sincerity.  *But  I 
have  to  think  of  my  painting,  do  I  not? ' 

"Giovanni,  naturally,  had  a  great  admiration  for 
Philip's  talent,  and  made  no  secret  of  it.  As  for 
Alice,  she  regarded  her  husband  as  nothing  less  than 
a  genius.  When  Philip  was  dissatisfied  with  his 
work  he  was  frankly  unbearable.  He  indulged  in 
grumbling  and  complaining  and  bursts  of  anger, 
followed  by  long  periods  of  depression.  If,  on  the 
other  hand,  he  had  succeeded  in  satisfying  himself,  it 
was  worse  still,  for  then  one  had  to  endure  the 
recital  of  the  entire  performance,  down  to  the  least 
trifling  detail  of  composition  or  execution.  At  first 
one  might  listen  with  pleasure,  or  at  least  benevo- 
lence. But  the  wearisome  repetition  from  morning 
until  night  finally  became  tedious,  even  exasperating, 
when  Philip,  with  a  childish  insistence,  invited  replies, 
denials,  the  better  to  confound  his  opponent.  The 


LOVERS  IN  FLORENCE  293 

docile  Giovanni  and  the  sincerely  admiring  Alice  lent 
themselves  resignedly  to  these  gymnastic  exercises 
of  patience,  but  when  days  and  days  had  been  spent 
in  the  occupation,  both,  exhausted  by  their  efforts, 
must  have  longed  in  body  and  soul  for  a  distraction 
more  or  less  in  accordance  with  current  social 
customs.  As  might  have  been  expected,  they  found 
it  in  each  other,  and  from  that  moment  peace  de- 
scended upon  the  happy  home. 

"When  I  discovered  the  affair  between  Alice  and 
Giovanni  in  the  course  of  a  visit  to  Fiesole,  where  I 
came  upon  them  suddenly  in  such  a  state  of  blind 
absorption  that  they  did  not  even  raise  their  eyes  at 
the  sound  of  my  footsteps,  I  judged  that  passion  was 
at  flood  tide.  They  did  not  even  trouble  to  conceal 
themselves,  so  that  had  I  not  been  careful,  I  should 
not  have  escaped  the  annoyance  of  an  encounter,  the 
revelations  of  which  could  hardly  have  been  blinked. 
I  took  the  course  of  going  often  to  see  Philip  at  his 
studio,  where  he  had  an  important  piece  of  work 
under  way,  and  I  was  able  to  leave  town  without 
disturbing  the  happy  quietude  of  all  concerned. 

"On  my  return  the  folio  whig  year  it  seemed  to  me 
at  first  that  nothing  had  changed  in  the  arrangement 
of  which  I  had  the  secret.  Still,  Philip  seemed  to 
me  less  absorbed  in  his  art.  I  often  caught  him  with 
his  eyes  obstinately  fixed  upon  his  wife,  who,  while 
avoiding  them,  seemed  troubled  by  the  obsession  of 
his  gaze.  Did  he  suspect  something?  I  did  not 


294  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

long  entertain  this  idea,  for  he  talked  to  me  with 
such  warmth  about  Alice,  that  I  could  not  restrain  an 
exclamation  of  surprise. 

''God  forgive  me,  Philip/  I  cried.  'You  are  in 
love!  And  with  your  wife!  What  has  happened?' 

'  'Nothing'  he  said.  *I  have  never  ceased  to  love 
her.' 

"And  one  confidence  leading  to  another,  I  learned 
that  a  flirtation  by  every  rule  was  going  on  between 
the  two.  For  a  year  they  had  been  living  in  separate 
apartments.  At  first  the  doors  had  been  on  the 
latch,  but  later  they  had  definitely  been  locked. 
One  day,  for  no  particular  reason,  Philip  had  won- 
dered why,  and  found  no  answer.  Alice,  when 
questioned,  had  had  nothing  to  say,  but  'Not  now 
—later,'  which  could  not  fill  the  function  of 
reasons.  That  another  should  have  won  the  heart 
which  belonged  to  him  could  never  have  occurred  to 
Philip.  But  as  his  mind  and  senses  became  insistent, 
sentiment  woke  up,  too.  So  that  the  inconstant 
husband  began  a  definite  siege  of  the  unfaithful 
wife. 

"Alice  appeared  to  be  flattered  by  the  homage,  but 
held  back  by  a  sense  of  duty  toward  her  lover.  As 
for  Giovanni,  confident  in  the  stability  of  his 
dominion,  he  was  entertained  by  the  performance  in 
which  his  vanity  saw  nothing  but  an  innocent  game 
started  by  Alice  for  the  sake  of  keeping  him  on  the 
alert.  It  was  Philip,  and  no  longer  Giovanni,  who 


LOVERS  IN  FLORENCE  295 

filled  Alice's  drawing  room  with  flowers.  Giovanni 
amusingly  called  my  attention  to  this  detail,  with  the 
fine  confidence  of  a  man  sure  of  his  power.  He  was, 
after  all,  fond  of  Philip,  and  pitied  him  for  his  wasted 
pains. 

"I  went  to  spend  six  months  in  Rome,  and  on  my 
way  back  to  Paris,  stopped  for  a  week  in  Florence. 
I  was  convinced  at  once  and  beyond  a  doubt  that 
the  legitimate  betrayal  had  been  consummated,  and 
that  the  blind  lover  Giovanni  was  being  cynically 
duped.  Alice  had  become  her  husband's  mistress. 
I  must  add,  that  though  the  factors  were  inverted,  the 
sum  of  happiness  appeared  the  same.  Contentment 
continued  to  reign  in  Philip's  household,  as  it  had  not 
ceased  to  do  since  his  wedding  day,  thanks  to  the 
three  successive  combinations.  I  even  judged  that 
this  time 'there  was  a  chance  of  it  becoming  a  settled 
condition,  for  Philip  no  longer  bored  us  with  his 
pictures,  being  completely  absorbed  in  the  business 
of  making  himself  agreeable  to  his  wife,  for  whom  the 
pleasure  of  the  conjugal  affair  was  enhanced  by  the 
delicately  perverse  spice  of  the  secret  connected  with 
Giovanni.  The  value  of  his  conquest  rose  appreci- 
ably in  Giovanni's  eyes  at  sight  of  Philip  in  love, 
and  he  peacefully  admired  as  his  achievement  the 
perfect  contentment  of  the  household.  He  was  even 
beginning  to  cast  his  eyes  about  him,  and  I  was  not 
too  greatly  surprised  when  I  saw  him  disposed  to 
make  love  to  me.  Everybody's  destiny  was  sealed. 


296  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

The  divorce  between  Giovanni  and  Alice  which,  I 
suppose,  already  existed  in  fact,  would  soon  be  form- 
ally acknowledged. 

"I  was  in  the  habit  of  going  at  nightfall  to  sit  hi  the 
Loggia  dei  Lanzi  to  see  all  Florence  pass  on  its  way 
home,  for  has  not  the  Piazza  della  Signoria  for 
centuries  and  centuries  been  the  town's  general 
meeting  ground?  I  have  made  curious  observations 
there.  After  a  glance  at  the  Perseus,  I  used  to  go  and 
sit  on  the  upper  one  of  the  steps  that  make  seats  like 
those  of  an  amphitheatre  against  the  long  back  wall, 
and  there,  hidden  in  the  shadow,  screened  from  view 
by  the  famous  group  of  the  Rape  of  the  Sabines,  gaze 
about  me,  dream,  and  wait  for  chance  tc  send  an 
inspiration  or  a  friendly  face  to  tear  me  from  my 
thoughts. 

"One  evening  I  had  lingered  in  my  hiding  place. 
Darkness  had  come.  Ammanati's  Neptune  and 
Gian  Bologna's  Cosimo  peopled  the  night  with 
motionless  ghosts.  Suddenly  two  shapes  rose  under 
the  arches,  a  man  and  a  woman  with  arms  entwined. 
They  glided  whispering  toward  the  Sabine  voluptu- 
ously struggling  in  the  arms  of  her  new  master,  and 
there,  out  of  sight  of  the  rare  passers,  but  fully  in  my 
sight,  clasped  each  other  in  a  long  embrace.  Finally 
I  saw  their  faces.  They  were  Philip  and  Alice,  who, 
driven  from  home  by  Giovanni's  presence,  had  come 
to  hide  in  the  public  square  and  make  love. 

"'Giovanni  must  have  been  surprised,'  Philip  was 


LOVERS  IN  FLORENCE  297 

saying,  'at  not  finding  us  in.  But  really,  he  is  too 
indiscreet.' 

"*Do  you  know  what  you  ought  to  do?'  asked 
Alice,  after  a  silence,  'You  ought  to  advise  him  to 
take  a  little  journey  to  Rome — or  elsewhere.' 

"'A  good  idea.     I  will  do  so.' 

"Two  weeks  later  Giovanni  came  to  see  me  in 
Paris,  and  made  amorous  proposals  to  me.  I  still 
have  to  laugh  when  I  think  of  his  discomfited  face  at 
the  sweeping  courtesy  I  made  him.  It  happened  only 
three  days  ago.  What  do  you  say  to  my  story?" 

"I  should  have  to  know  the  end  of  it." 

"Nothing  ever  ends.     Everything  keeps  on." 

"Well,  it  is  an  exception,  that  is  all  I  can  say." 

"I  admit  it.  But  out  of  what  are  rules  made,  if 
you  please?  Is  it  not  out  of  exceptions  when  there 
are  enough  of  them?  I  bring  my  contribution.  You 
ought  in  return  to  tell  me  some  fine  story  of  absolute 
monogamic  fidelity." 

"Such  things  exist." 

"Assuredly.  I  know  a  case.  Never  were  two 
mortals  more  unhappy.  Their  whole  life  was  one 
prolonged  battle." 

"From  which  you  conclude ?" 

"That  we  are  all  exceptions,  my  dear  friend,  and 
that  we  all  establish  our  great  intangible  laws  only 
for  other  people,  reserving  the  right  to  take  or  to 
leave  as  much  of  them  for  ourselves  as  we  choose. 
Good  luck.  Good-bye!" 


A  HUNTING  ACCIDENT 


XXIV 
A  HUNTING  ACCIDENT 

1  AGAIN  met  the  charming  woman  to  whom  I  owe 
the  story  of  the  Florentine  love  affairs  just 
related. 

"What  news  of  Don  Giovanni?"  I  asked.  ' 

"I  saw  him  yesterday,  by  chance.  He  confessed 
that  he  did  not  know  the  reason  of  his  exile.  I 
gently  insinuated  that  the  husband  might  have 
something  to  do  with  it.  The  idea  made  him  laugh, 
and  he  answered:  'Anything  is  likelier  than  that!' 
which  made  me  laugh  in  my  turn." 

"All  blind,  then?" 

"And  the  result:    Peace  and  happiness." 

' '  And  clear  vision  ? ' ' 

"  Clear  vision  would  simply  mean  tragedy,  because 
of  each  one  regarding  his  own  infidelities  as  unim- 
portant, only  to  reach  the  unexpected  conclusion 
that  those  of  his  partner  are  unforgivable  crimes. 
Not  logical,  but  very  human." 

^,"And  do  you  not  think  that  conjugal  fidelity  is 
human,  too?" 

"Excuse  me,  I  expressly  told  you  that  I  had  once 
seen  a  case  of  it." 

301 


302  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

"And  might  one  hear  the  story  of  this  solitary 
case?" 

"An  uneventful  drama.  Nothing  is  less  romantic 
than  virtue.  You  must  be  aware  of  that." 

"But  does  happiness  lie  in  romance?" 

"That  I  cannot  say.  Possibly,  because  the  reality 
will  never  equal  the  dream.  At  all  events,  my 
faithful  pair  were  the  most  unhappy  mortals  I  have 
ever  known." 

"Do  tell  me  about  them." 

"Oh,  it  is  very  simple.  You  know  that  I  was 
brought  up  in  England,  near  the  little  town  of  Dork- 
ing. I  still  have  friends  there  whom  I  visit  occasion- 
ally, when  I  want  a  change  from  Italy.  Surrey  is  a 
picturesque  region,  where  lazy  rivers  wind  their  way 
to  the  sea  between  green  banks,  through  wide, 
fertile  valleys  at  the  foot  of  wooded  hills.  Every- 
where woods  and  streams,  and  ravines  crested  with 
yews  and  ancient  oaks.  Pale,  misty  skies  spread  a 
mother-of-pearl  canopy  over  the  wide  expanses  of 
thick  grass.  It  is  a  fox  hunting  country,  and  I 
humbly  confess  that  there  are  to  my  mind  few 
pleasures  in  life  equal  to  the  wild  intoxication  of  a 
mad,  aimless  gallop,  in  which,  what  with  hedges  and 
ditches,  rivers  and  precipices,  one  risks  breaking  one's 
neck  a  hundred  times  a  day.  You  will  from  current 
pictures  of  it  get  a  fairly  good  idea  of  the  sport.  It  is 
a  headlong  rush  to  get — one  does  not  clearly  know 
where.  Nothing  stops  one,  nothing  furnishes  a 


A  HUNTING  ACCIDENT  303 

sufficient  reason  for  turning  back.  Onward,  and 
still  onward!  The  horses  themselves  are  infected 
with  the  general  madness.  Accidents  make  no 
difference.  A  fallen  horse  scrambles  to  his  feet 
again,  an  unseated  rider  gets  back  into  the  saddle. 
Some  are  carried  home  on  stretchers.  At  night  the 
fallen  are  counted.  In  three  curt  words  then* 
friends  sympathize  with  them  for  having  to  wait 
three  weeks  before  going  at  it  again. 

"A  few  years  ago,  in  one  of  these  hunting  tumults,  I 
stopped  to  get  my  breath  after  a  long  gallop  on  my 
cob.  I  was  on  a  wide  heath  overlooking  the  valley 
that  ends  at  the  red  spires  of  Dorking.  A  silvery 
river,  whose  name  I  forget,  and  a  sprinkling  of  pools 
set  patches  of  sky  in  the  vast  stretch  of  flowering 
green.  At  the  horizon  a  tower  is  seen,  famous  in  the 
district,  a  memorial  of  the  whimsey  of  a  pious 
personage,  who  had  himself  buried  there  head  down- 
ward so  as  to  find  himself  standing  upright  on  the 
day  of  the  resurrection,  when,  it  seems,  the  world 
will  be  upside  down. 

"I  stood  wondering  at  this  ingenuous  monument  of 
human  simplicity,  when  I  heard  behind  me  the  noise 
of  frantic  galloping.  Before  I  could  move  or  cry  out, 
a  hunter  and  a  maddened  horse  burst  from  the  wood, 
within  gunshot,  and  plunged  headlong  down  the 
steep  bank  that  ended  abruptly  at  the  gaping  pit  of 
an  old  quarry.  What  filled  me  with  unspeakable 
horror  was  that  the  rider  was  desperately  spurring 


304  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

and  lashing  his  horse,  who  would  have  been  unable 
anyhow  to  stop  himself  in  his  dizzy  descent  toward 
death.  In  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  the  ground 
appeared  to  swallow  them  both.  Nothing  was  to  be 
seen  but  heaven  and  earth  smiling  at  each  other  with 
the  imperturbable  smile  of  things  that  never  end. 

"I  finally  regained  the  use  of  my  senses.  I  jumped 
from  my  saddle,  and  I  know  not  how,  reached  the 
bottom  of  the  quarry.  The  horse  had  been  killed 
outright.  In  a  red  pool  lay  a  gasping,  shattered 
man.  It  was  an  old  friend  of  mine,  who  had  been 
kind  to  me  in  my  early  days  in  Dorking.  I  called 
him.  He  opened  his  eyes. 

"'What!'  he  cried,  'it  is  not  over?' 

"I  questioned  him  in  vain. 

"'It  is  not  over!  It  is  not  over!'  he  repeated  in 
vain  despair,  'I  shall  have  to  go  through  with  it 
again ! ' 

"Not  knowing  what  to  do  or  say,  I  climbed  to  the 
top  of  the  bank  and  called  for  help.  A  farmer 
hastened  to  the  spot.  With  infinite  care,  the 
wounded  man  was  lifted  into  a  cart.  By  some 
miracle  he  had  escaped  without  mortal  injury.  Two 
months  later  he  was  in  full  convalescence.  He 
suspected  before  long  that  I  had  witnessed  his  leap, 
and  my  embarrassment  when  he  questioned  me 
about  our  encounter  at  the  bottom  of  the  quarry  only 
confirmed  him  in  his  idea.  One  day,  he  could  no 
longer  keep  from  speaking. 


A  HUNTING  ACCIDENT  305 

'"You  do  not  believe  it  was  an  accident,  do  you?' 
he  said,  looking  me  squarely  in  the  eyes. 

'"What  do  you  mean?'  I  asked,  avoiding  the 
question. 

"'I  mean  that  I  must  have  passed  close  by  you  on 
my  way  to  the  quarry.' 

"  *  Yes,'  I  said,  with  a  sudden  resolve  to  tell  the  truth. 

"  'You  know  my  secret.  I  am  sure,  my  dear  child, 
that  you  will  keep  it.  Death  would  not  take  me.  I 
shall  go  on  living.  But  since  there  is  now  one 
human  being  before  whom  I  can  pour  out  the  over- 
flow of  my  misery,  and  since  that  one  is  yourself,  for 
whom  I  have  so  long  felt  the  warmest  friendship,  I 
will  tell  you  all.' 

"Some  other  day.    Later  on.' 

"'No,  let  me  speak.  In  the  first  place,  let  me 
reassure  you,  there  is  no  crime  in  my  life.' 

"'What  an  idea!' 

'  *  No,  I  am  merely'unhappy.  And  my  unhappiness 
is  of  a  kind  for  which  there  is  no  help.  It  seems  to 
you  that  I  have  every  thing,  does  it  not?  Wealth,  a 
happy  family  life,  beloved  children.  My  wife,  I  am 
sure,  seems  to  you ' 

'"The  best  in  the  world.' 

"Doubtless.  And  yet,  she  exactly  is  the  cause  of 
my  wretchedness.  She  loves  me,  and  I  hate  her. 
It  is  horrible.' 

"  *Oh,  come.  You  do  not  hate  your  wife.  That  is 
impossible.' 


806  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

"  'I  repeat  it.  I  hate  her.  I  loved  her  when  I 
married  her.  I  was  in  love  at  that  time,  for  she  was 
very  beautiful.  She  has  been  a  faithful  wife,  and  a 
good  mother.  What  have  I  to  complain  of,  except 
that  she  mechanically  has  confined  herself  to  the 
narrow  performance  of  her  duties,  and  while  doing  it, 
has  allowed  us  to  become  strangers?  Is  she  above  or 
beneath  me?  What  does  it  matter?  We  are  not  on 
the  same  mental  plane.  I  have  by  my  side  an  inert, 
submissive  creature,  with  an  exasperating  sorrow  in 
her  eyes,  for  although  she  has  never  formulated  any 
complaint,  she  naturally  holds  me  responsible  for  the 
misunderstanding  which  has  never  been  expressed  in 
words.  You  look  at  me  as  if  you  did  not  under- 
stand. You  think  me  mad,  probably.  Shall  I  be 
more  explicit?  Very  well,  I  no  longer  love  her. 
There  you  have  it  in  a  nutshell.  Gradually,  habit 
and  her  flatly  commonplace  mind  made  her  in- 
different to  me.  There  is  no  sense  in  blaming  her. 
Be  the  fault  hers  or  mine,  I  was  estranged  from  her. 
What  remedy  was  there  for  the  brutal  fact?  I  had 
loved  her,  and  I  loved  her  no  longer.  We  cannot 
love  by  order  of  the  sheriff  or  of  the  Bible.  It  is  as  if 
you  should  reproach  me  with  having  white  hair 
instead  of  blond,  as  I  once  had.  What  have  you  to 
say  to  it?' 

"Nothing  at  all,  my  dear  and  unhappy  friend. 
If  you  wish  me  to  speak  frankly,  the  idea  had  oc- 
curred to  me  that  the  lack  of  pleasure  you  took 


A  HUNTING  ACCIDENT  307 

in  your  excellent  wife  might  come  from  the  pos- 
sibly unconscious  pleasure  you  took  in  someone 
else.' 

" '  Your  imagination  anticipates  the  facts.  As  you 
suspect,  I  have  not  finished  my  story.  Since  you 
call  for  an  immediate  confession,  let  me  tell  you, 
that  having  been  strictly  brought  up  in  the  discipline 
of  the  Church,  I  came  to  marriage  with  the  perfect 
purity  required  by  Christian  morality.  Let  me  also 
tell  you  that,  for  whatever  reason  you  choose — 
ignorance  of  the  strategy  of  intrigue,  or  timidity, 
or  fear  of  losing  my  self-respect — I  have  remained 
guiltless  of  the  least  departure  from  the  strictest 
marriage  laws.  I  no  longer  loved  my  wife,  but  I  was 
her  husband,  her  faithful  husband.  You  will  readily 
guess  at  the  wretched  lapses  into  weakness  confessed 
in  that  statement,  followed  by  a  reaction  of  shame, 
and  even  of  repulsion,  which  in  spite  of  my  best 
efforts  I  could  not  disguise. 

"'I  thought  of  going  on  a  long  journey.  A  year  or 
two  in  India  might,  or  so  I  supposed,  have  brought  me 
back  to  the  woman  from  whom  proximity  was  daily 
separating  me  more  widely.  But  she,  not  under- 
standing this,  raised  the  most  serious  of  all  objections : 
the  children  needed  my  oversight. 

"'Take  us  with  you/  she  stupidly  suggested. 

"'The  die  was  cast.  We  remained  where  we  were: 
chained  together,  each  horribly  distressing  the 
other,  and,  with  each  spasm  of  pain,  deepening  our 


308  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

own  hurt  and  that  of  our  companion  in  irons.  She, 
unfailingly  angelic,  and  I,  unbalanced,  full  of  whims, 
and  doubtless  unbearable.  Who  knows?  If  it  had 
been  possible  to  her  nature,  a  clap  of  thunder  might 
have  scattered  the  contrary  electric  currents  between 
us,  and  have  restored  peace.  But  no.  We  were 
enemies  always  on  the  point  of  grappling,  with  never 
the  relief  of  a  word  or  a  gesture  of  battle.  My 
nerves  were  on  the  point  of  giving  way,  when  the 
inevitable  romance  came  into  my  life.' 

"'You  are  still  far  from  strong.  Do  not  tell  me 
any  more  to-day.' 

"  'Nay,  chance  has  forced  this  confession.  Let  us 
go  through  with  it  to  the  end.  After  this,  we  will 
never  refer  to  it  again.  The  romance  you  have 
guessed  at  was  connected  with  a  lovable  and  light- 
hearted  girl.  She  was  a  little  intoxicated  with  her 
own  youth,  and  full  of  the  exquisite  charm  which 
illusion  had  once  lent  to  the  woman  I  married,  and 
in  which  she  was  to  me  so  lamentably  lacking  now. 
What  shall  I  say?  I  loved  and  was  loved.  Our 
passion  was  an  ideal  one,  very  sweet,  very  pure, 
carrying  with  it  no  remorse.  Were  I  to  tell  you  the 
story  of  it,  it  might  even  seem  childish  to  you.  It 
contained,  however,  the  two  happiest  years  of  my 
life.  Two  years  that  passed  like  a  flash.  Two 
years  of  silent  delight,  ending  one  day  in  a  definite 
avowal.  No  sooner  had  we  uttered  the  words,  than 
fear  of  the  sin  we  glimpsed  assailed  us,  and  we  fell 


A  HUNTING  ACCIDENT  309 

back  aghast  into  the  depths  of  despair.  Our  only  kiss 
was  the  kiss  of  eternal  farewell. 

"  'I  was  left  more  broken  and  bleeding  by  the  horri- 
ble fall  than  when  you  found  me  on  the  stones  of 
the  quarry.  She  went  away,  and  if  I  am  to  tell  the 
whole  miserable  truth,  she  has  found  comfort,  she  is 
married  to  a  boor,  who,  they  say,  makes  her  happy. 
Why  should  I  care  to  appear  better  than  I  am?  I 
often  regret  the  imbecile  heroism  prompting  me, 
when  to  save  that  shallow  creature  I  made  myself 
into  the  victim  of  an  atrocious  fate.  I  spared  her, 
and  consequently  am  dying,  while  she,  in  the  arms  of 

her  hod  carrier Do  not  misjudge  me.  I  have 

suffered.  She  had  sworn  to  love  me  forever.  She 
is  happy,  and  I — I  who  could  have  taken  her 
and  broken  her  and  made  of  the  eventual  harm  to 
her  an  -overwhelming  joy,  while  it  lasted,  have  not 
even  the  right  to  proclaim  her  unworthy  of  my  fool- 
ish pity.  I  curse  her,  and  I  love  her  still. 

"'And  my  wife,  my  blameless  wife,  who  guessed 
everything,  I  am  sure,  and  forgave  it,  either  from 
incapacity  to  resent  an  outrage,  or  from  insulting 
pity  for  me,  my  wife  to  whom  I  owe  this  double 
disillusion  in  love,  who  unwittingly  tortures  me,  and 
whom  I  equally  torture,  I  execrate  her,  I  hate  her 
with  all  the  intensity  of  my  misery.  Had  I  yielded 
to  the  moment's  temptation  I  might  have  returned 
to  her  sated  with  happiness,  or  disenchanted,  or 
remorseful. 


310  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

"  'In  my  deepest  misery  I  shall  never  forgive  her  the 
look  of  silent  anguish  wherewith  she  stabs  me.  I 
shall  never  forgive  her  resignation,  the  quiet  sub- 
mission which,  together  with  her  interest  in  her 
duties,  makes  our  tormented  life  bearable  to  her.  She 
is  not  unaware,  you  may  be  sure,  that  I  have  a 
hundred  times  thought  of  seeking  oblivion  in  death. 
She  was  no  more  taken  hi  than  you  were  by  the 
accident  on  Dunley  Hill.  She  will  never  betray  it 
by  a  word.  She  offers  herself  as  a  sacrifice,  and  this 
magnanimity  which  fills  me  with  despair  constantly 
aggravates  the  intolerable  anguish  of  our  daily  as- 
sociation. I  no  longer  love  the  woman  who  loves 
me;  I  still  love  the  one  who  loves  me  no  longer.  I 
have  committed  no  sin,  I  am  even  blameless.  Will 
you  deny  that  if  I  had  given  myself  cause  for  re- 
morse I  might  also  have  suffered  less,  might  have 
even  had  chances  of  happiness?" 

With  a  far-away  look  in  her  eyes,  the  narrator 
ended  her  story  abruptly. 

"And  what  did  you  answer?"  I  questioned. 

"I  answered  that  pain  wears  itself  out  no  less  than 
joy,  that  it  is  our  nature  to  regret  the  things  that 
might  have  been,  because  they  are  so  different  from 
reality.  I  answered  that  patience  to  live  is  the 
greatest  among  the  virtues." 


GIAMBOLO 


XXV 

GIAMBOLO 

1TOO,  have  known  the  joys  of  travel !  I,  too,  have 
left  the  easy  slopes  of  home  for  the  steep  ascents 
9  of  foreign  lands !  Like  many  another  simpleton, 
sated  with  the  familiar,  I  have  enthusiastically 
crossed  frontiers  in  search  of  that  something  or 
other  which  might  give  me  unexpected  sensations. 
After  being  tossed  and  jolted  and  bruised  in  the 
hard  sleeping  cars,  I  have  fallen  into  the  hands  of 
porters,  or  "traegers"  or  "facchini"  who  bewildered 
me  with  their  violent  pantomime  accompanied  by 
anti-French  sounds,  obliged  me  to  follow  them  by 
going  off  with  my  wraps  and  bags,  and  after  an 
extortionate  charge  flung  me  on  to  the  sym- 
pathetically dejected  cushions  of  the  hotel  omnibus, 
amid  strange  companions.  Next,  a  hideous  rattling 
of  iron  and  window  glass,  while  a  gold-laced  in- 
dividual asks  me  simultaneously  in  three  different 
languages  to  account  for  my  presence  here,  and  say 
how  I  mean  to  spend  my  time,  telling  me  in  the  same 
breath  the  great  advantage  there  would  be  in  doing 
something  quite  different  from  what  I  intend  to  do. 
Presently  the  torture  changes.  A  gigantic  porter  in  an 

313 


314  THE  SURPRISES  OP  LIFE 

imperial  great  coat  transfers  me  to  silent  automata  in 
black  broadcloth  and  white  tie,  who  hand  people  and 
luggage  from  one  to  the  next  as  far  as  the  elevator. 
Nothing  more  remains  but  to  answer  the  chamber- 
maid's investigations  as  to  my  habits  and  tastes,  my 
theory  of  existence,  while  by  an  error  of  the  hall 
boy  my  luggage  is  scattered  in  neighbouring  rooms, 
and  I  am  burdened  with  someone  else's.  All  is  finally 
straightened  out.  Alone,  at  last! 

Then  comes  a  discreet  knock  at  my  door.  It  is  the 
interpreter,  the  guide,  the  cicerone,  the  indispensable 
man,  who  with  touching  obsequiousness  places  his 
universal  knowledge  at  my  disposal  for  to-day,  to- 
morrow, or  all  time.  Here  follows  a  long  enumera- 
tion of  what  custom  imposes  upon  the  stranger. 
There  is  no  question  of  breaking  away  from  tradition. 
There  stand  the  monuments,  and  here  are  the 
roads  leading  to  them.  One  may  begin  the  round 
by  one  or  another.  My  liberty  is  limited  to  the 
order  in  which  I  shall  see  them.  The  rest  does  not 
concern  me.  Here  is  such  and  such  a  picture,  there 
stands  such  and  such  a  piece  of  statuary.  We  shall 
cross  the  street  or  the  square  where  such  and  such  an 
event  took  place.  A  date,  the  year,  and  month,  and 
day,  are  supposed  to  stamp  the  facts  on  my 
memory.  Why  did  the  men  of  the  past  choose  this 
precise  spot  to  make  history?  I  have  no  time  to 
inquire,  for  in  three  turns  of  the  wheel  I  am  in  an- 
other and  still  more  memorable  place,  where  other 


GIAMBOLO  315 

dates  and  other  names  are  dextrously  driven  into  the 
quick  of  my  memory.  Galleries  follow  upon 
galleries,  trips  to  rivers,  to  mountains.  A  glimpse 
of  a  cool  garden  tempts  me.  How  sweet  to  rest 
there  for  a  while,  and  dream!  But  where  is  one  to 
find  the  time,  when  interpreter  and  coachman  are 
growing  impatient  because  there  is  no  more  than 
time  to  go  to  the  Carthusian  monastery,  and  get  back 
before  nightfall? 

The  interminable  road  unfolds  before  me  while  I 
delve  into  my  Baedeker  for  the  history  of  the 
monastery.  Suddenly  the  coachman  stops,  points 
with  his  whip  at  the  horizon,  and  makes  an  emphatic, 
incomprehensible  speech.  A  battle  was  fought 
there  in  the  time  of  the  Risorgimento.  His  little 
cousin's  brother-in-law  was  wounded  there,  not 
mortally,  though  his  corporal  had  his  leg  cut  off. 
How  should  one  not  be  proud  of  such  memories? 
My  guide  says  that  his  father  was  fond  of  telling  that 
he  had  seen  it  all  from  the  top  of  a  tower.  He 
begins  another  version  of  the  story,  which  is  inter- 
rupted by  our  arrival  at  the  monastery,  and  taken 
up  again  on  the  return  journey.  Next  day  in  the 
train  I  shall  have  leisure  to  think  over  all  these 
things,  if  the  complete  confusion  in  my  memory 
leaves  me  capacity  for  anything  but  stupefac- 
tion. 

When  we  try  to  get  at  the  reason  for  these  extraor- 
dinary performances,  people  offer  different  explana- 


316  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

lions.  This  one  will  call  it  "taking  a  holiday." 
The  other  will  say  that  he  has  had  an  unhappy  love 
affair  and  needs  distraction.  For  the  most  part, 
people  will  confess  that  they  are  trying  to  forget 
something — their  wife,  their  children,  their  business. 
All  seem  tormented  by  the  same  desire  for  novelty. 
What  they  are  seeking  from  men  and  monuments 
and  places  in  foreign  lands  is  something  not  yet 
seen,  a  fresh  enjoyment,  a  virgin  impression  which 
shall  draw  them  outside  the  circle  of  outworn  sensa- 
tions. It  is  something  to  rouse  a  happy  wonder,  and 
fulfil  a  hope  of  pleasure  that  always  keeps  ahead  of 
any  pleasure  experienced.  Do  they  find  it?  Every- 
one must  answer  for  himself.  Many  probably 
never  ask  themselves  the  question,  lest  they  be 
obliged  to  confess  a  weary  disappointment. 

Before  this  procession  of  churches,  statues,  and 
pictures,  where  shall  we  stop,  what  shall  we  try  to 
retain?  How  shall  we  disentangle  the  significance  of 
things,  the  meaning  and  power  and  expressiveness 
of  which  can  only  be  grasped  by  deep  study?  It 
would  be  too  simple,  if  one  need  merely  open  one's 
eyes  in  order  to  understand.  The  work  of  art 
speaks,  but  we  must  know  its  language.  Not  only  is 
time  wanting,  knowledge  of  the  need  of  knowledge  is 
wanting  in  most  passers  by,  who  will  never  do  any- 
thing but  pass  by.  Their  pride  is  satisfied  when 
they  can  say:  "I  have  seen."  That  is  the  most 
definite  part  of  their  harvest  of  pleasure.  It  is 


GIAMBOLO  317 

apparently  a  conscientious  scruple  that  obliges  them 
to  go  out  of  their  way  to  obtain  it. 

"I  am  going  to  Rome,"  said  a  young  Englishman 
to  Miss  Harriet  Martineau,  "oh,  just  so  as  to  be  able 
to  say  that  I  have  been  there." 

"Why  don't  you  say  so  without  going?"  was  the 
simple  reply. 

It  is  upon  Italy  particularly  that  the  crowd  hurls 
itself.  Wherever  you  may  go  in  that  classic  land, 
you  will  be  surrounded  by  an  ever-rising  flood  of  the 
natives  of  every  known  continent,  all  seeking  under 
new  skies  for  self-renewal.  Silent,  tired,  their  eyes 
straining  at  invisible  things,  they  file  past  with  their 
shawls  and  veils  and  parasols,  levelling  field  glasses, 
marking  maps,  asking  senseless  questions,  and 
emitting  exclamations  expressive  of  an  equal  ad- 
miration _  for  everything  they  see.  I  have  always 
pitied  these  poor  people,  dragged  from  their  native 
land  by  a  force  which  their  simple  minds  are  unable 
to  analyze.  They  will  never  express  their  disap- 
pointment, most  of  them  will  never  realize  it.  But  I 
feel  it  for  them,  and  I  pity  their  wasted  effort. 

It  was  a  consolation  to  me  to  find  one  day  that 
there  are  people  who  turn  homeward  satisfied, 
with  the  object  of  their  desires  attained,  and  the 
happiness  secured  of  having  seen  and  felt  what  it  is 
granted  only  to  a  chosen  few  to  see  and  feel. 

I  was  quite  alone  on  the  platform  of  the  bell  tower 
of  Torcello,  from  which  the  entire  Venetian  lagoon  is 


318  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

visible  at  a  glance.  Sea,  air,  and  sky,  all  luminous  and 
transparent,  melted  into  one  another,  building  a 
vast  dome  of  light.  In  the  distance,  bluish  spots — 
islands,  or  perhaps  clouds — what  cared  I  for  names! 
Do  clouds  have  names?  Boats  loaded  with  fruit  and 
vegetables  streaked  the  bright  mirror  of  the  sea,  and 
alone  reminded  one  of  the  reality  of  the  earth.  Not 
a  sound.  The  desert  calm  of  sky  and  sea  imposes 
silence.  The  lagoon  has  no  song. 

I  stood  there,  as  if  transfixed  in  the  crystal  of  the 
universe,  admiring  without  reflection,  when  lo! — a 
group  of  Germans  arriving,  led  by  the  fever-shaken 
cicerone  whose  aid  I  had  a  little  earlier  refused. 
Here  was  his  chance  for  revenge.  Immediately, 
without  preamble,  he  gathers  his  audience  in  a 
circle,  and  begins  to  "exhibit"  the  horizon.  With 
outstretched  arms  he  throws  at  every  point  of  the 
compass  names,  and  names,  and  then  more  names. 
From  the  top  of  the  peaceful  tower  fly  sonorous 
sounds  to  the  spots  where  his  imperious  gesture 
firmly  fastens  them.  Mountain,  island,  tower, 
village,  indentations  of  the  coast  line,  everything  has 
its  turn,  visible  objects  and  objects  that  might  be 
visible.  Men,  women,  and  children,  all  Germany 
hangs  upon  the  lips  of  the  voluble  showman.  At 
each  name,  as  if  at  a  military  command,  all  glances 
follow  the  pointing  finger  and  take  an  anxious  plunge 
into  space.  For  one  must  be  sure  to  see  the  desig- 
nated spot.  Otherwise  what  is  the  good  of  coming? 


GIAMBOLO  319 

But  as  soon  as  the  eyes  are  settling  down  to  feed 
upon  the  sight  just  announced,  a  new  command  drags 
them  all  in  another  direction.  That  blue  line,  that 
white  gleam  have  a  name,  a  history — this  is  the 
name,  and  here  is  the  history.  Now  let  us  go  on  to 
the  next  thing. 

These  people,  marvellously  disciplined,  listen  in 
admiring  attitudes.  A  student  is  taking  notes,  so  as 
to  impart  his  learning  when  he  gets  home.  But  the 
end  is  not  yet.  The  cicerone,  suddenly  silent,  one 
hand  shielding  his  eyes,  appears  hypnotized  by 
something  at  the  horizon.  The  attitude,  the  fixed 
stare,  particularly  the  silence,  keep  the  spectators  in 
suspense.  The  man  has  drawn  from  his  pocket  a 
battered  opera  glass  which,  possibly,  in  the  last 
century,  contributed  to  the  delight  of  some  noble 
dame  at  4he  Fenice.  Its  lenses  acquire  from  being 
dextrously  rubbed  with  an  accurately  proportioned 
mixture  of  saliva  and  tobacco,  and  then  dried  with  a 
handkerchief  reminiscent  of  fish  fried  in  oil,  and  of 
polenta,  the  unique  property  of  making  infinitely 
small  objects  at  the  horizon  visible — objects  smaller 
than  any  other  optical  instrument  could  enable  one 
to  see.  The  man  brandishes  the  apparatus. 

"To-day  Giambolo  is  visible,"  he  says.  "I  am 
going  to  show  you  Giambolo." 

Everyone  exclaims  joyously:  "What!  Is  it  pos- 
sible? He  is  going  to  show  us  Giambolo!" 

And  the  man  on  the  bell  tower  of  Torcello  is  as 


320  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

good  as  his  word.  Pushing  aside  the  German  field 
glasses  with  a  scornful  gesture,  he  thrusts  his  precious 
instrument  upon  the  group. 

"Do  you  see,  just  above  the  horizon  line,  some- 
thing white  that  seems  to  move  in  a  burst  of  light? 
Half  close  your  eyes,  in  order  to  see  farther.  By  an 
uncommon  piece  of  luck  Giambolo  is  visible  to-day. 
You  cannot  help  seeing  it.  I  can  even  see  it  with 
my  naked  eye.  But  of  course  I  know  where  to  look 
for  it.'; 

The  rigid  German,  ankylosed  at  his  glass,  suddenly 
straightens  up. 

"Yes,  yes,  I  saw  it  very  well.  It  is  all  white,  and 
there  is  something  shining." 

"That  is  it,"  answers  the  man  of  Torcello,  satis- 
fied. 

Then  everyone  took  his  turn.  The  women  all  saw 
it  at  the  very  first  glance;  they  even  gave  detailed 
descriptions  of  it.  The  student  alone  could  not  see 
Giambolo.  He  confessed  it  with  genuine  humilia- 
tion, and  was  looked  upon  with  pitying  disdain  by  all 
the  others. 

"What  is  it  like?"  he  asked  of  everyone.  And 
everyone  gave  his  own  description.  There  was  a 
slight  vapour  at  the  top.  A  streak  at  the  right, 
said  some,  some  said  at  the  left;  there  was  nothing  of 
the  kind,  according  to  the  pater  familias  who  had 
had  the  distinction  of  being  the  first  to  see  Giambolo. 

The  unfortunate  student  tried  again  and  again, 


GIAMBOLO  321 

and  went  on  exclaiming  in  despair:  "I  can  see 
nothing!  I  can  see  nothing!" 

The  Italian  shrugged  his  shoulders  with  a  placid 
smile,  the  meaning  of  which  obviously  was  that  some 
people  had  not  the  gift. 

"But,"  cried  the  exasperated  youth,  "what  is 
Giambolo,  will  you  tell  me?  Is  there  any  such 
thing,  really,  as  Giambolo?" 

A  unanimous  cry  of  horror  went  up  at  this  blas- 
phemy. How  could  one  see  a  thing  that  did  not 
exist?  When  half  a  dozen  human  beings  have  in  good 
faith  seen  Giambolo  and  are  willing  to  swear  before 
God  that  they  have,  no  further  discussion  is  possible. 

"Then  tell  me  what  it  is,  since  you  have  seen  it." 

With  a  gesture  the  Italian  checked  all  forthcoming 
answers. 

"Giambolo  is  Giambolo,"  he  pronounced,  with 
imposing  solemnity.  "One  cannot,  unless  one  is 
mad,  argue  about  it.  Only,  it  is  not  granted  to 
everyone  to  see  it." 

There  was  evidently  on  the  bell  tower  of  Torcello 
no  one  bereft  of  reason,  for  silence  followed  this 
speech,  and  no  one  seemed  inclined  to  dispute  a 
settled  fact.  Groaning  under  the  weight  of  his 
shame,  the  unfortunate  young  man  who  had  not 
seen  Giambolo  gave  the  signal  for  moving  on,  and  the 
descent  was  made  in  the  contented  repose  of  mind 
that  attends  the  happy  accomplishment  of  an  act 
above  the  common. 


322  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

On  the  lowest  step,  the  good  Torcellian  reaped  in 
his  discreetly  outstretched  cap  an  abundant  harvest 
of  silver  coins.  It  is  hardly  possible  to  be  nig- 
gardly with  those  who  have  shown  one  Giambolo. 

A  few  days  later,  on  the  roof  of  the  Milan  Cathed- 
ral, amid  the  thick  forest  of  statues  which  makes  the 
place  surprising,  I  saw  a  mustachioed  guide  hurling 
at  the  marble  multitude  augmented  by  a  flock  of 
Cook's  tourists  the  names  of  the  snowy  summits 
composing  the  Alpine  range  along  the  horizon.  The 
memory  of  Torcello  was  so  recent  that  I  could  not 
but  be  struck  by  the  identity  of  the  scene.  The 
same  motions,  same  accent,  same  voluble  emphasis. 
The  session  was  near  its  end.  I  was  about  to  pass 
on,  when  the  man,  after  a  moment's  silent  scrutiny, 
drew  forth  an  opera  glass  through  which  perhaps,  in 
her  day,  Malibran  was  seen  at  the  Scala;  he  signified 
by  a  gesture  that  he  had  a  supplementary  communi- 
cation to  make.  All  Cook's  flock  drew  near,  grave, 
anxious,  open  mouthed.  Oh,  surprise!  Like  the 
man  of  Torcello,  the  Milanese  had  caught  sight  of 
something  not  usually  to  be  seen.  With  an  authori- 
tative gesture  he  called  upon  the  elements  to  deliver 
up  their  mystery,  and  extending  a  finger  with 
infallible  accuracy  toward  a  point  known  only  to 
himself,  cast  upon  the  wind  a  name  the  sonorous 
vibrations  of  which  spread  through  space.  Was  it  an 
illusion?  It  seemed  to  me  that  the  name  was 
Giambolo. 


GIAMBOLO  323 

Still  Giambolo !  Giambolo,  visible  from  all  heights. 
And  the  same  scene  was  enacted  as  on  the  lagoon  at 
Venice. 

The  magical  glass  passed  from  hand  to  hand; 
exclamations  of  joy  and  surprise  followed  one 
another.  Everybody  wished  to  see  and  saw  Giam- 
bolo. They  exchanged  their  impressions. 

"Did  you  see  the  little  puff  of  vapour?" 

"Something  white."  v 

"Yes— blue." 

"No— gray." 

"That  is  it!     You  have  seen  it!" 

And  there  was  inexpressible  delight.  Only  a  few 
silent  individuals  showed  by  their  dejected  attitude 
the  humiliation  they  felt  at  not  being  sure  of  what 
they  had  seen,  or  whether  they  had  seen  it.  But  no 
one  took  any  notice  of  this  in  the  tumult  of  commen- 
tary. 

I  looked  at  the  happy  group.  Laughing  faces, 
bright  eyes,  all  the  weariness  of  travel  wiped  out. 
Some  of  the  women  grew  quiet,  the  more  consciously 
to  taste  their  joy.  The  men,  more  communicative, 
exchanged  opinions.  They  had  seen  Giambolo,  and 
could  not  get  over  the  wonder  of  it. 

They  had  not  come  to  Italy  in  vain.  Which 
opinion  was  shared  by  the  excellent  Lombardy  guide, 
weighing  in  his  palm  the  money  accruing  to  him 
from  the  sight  of  Giambolo. 

A  week  had  passed  without  any  notable  event 


324  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

other  than  meeting  everywhere  those  pilgrim  bands 
who  spoil  all  pleasure  in  beautiful  things  by  the 
obsession  of  their  ready-made  admirations.  From 
the  outer  rotunda  of  the  convent  in  Assisi  I  was 
letting  my  gaze  wander  over  the  plain  of  Umbria, 
all  the  world  in  sight  being  an  expanse  of  billowing 
greenness.  As  if  through  a  trap  door  a  man  sprang 
up  at  my  side,  then  two,  then  ten,  then  what  seemed 
a  thousand,  for  the  platform  on  which  I  had  a  mo- 
ment before  been  walking  alone  under  the  sky  was 
turned  into  a  clamorous  ant  hill. 

Voices  on  all  sides  exclaimed:  "Here  it  is!  Here 
is  the  place  from  which  we  can  see.  Over  there, 
there,  the  towers  of  Perugia.  And  the  railway!" 

"What!     The  railway  that  brought  us?" 

"Yes,  really!" 

"How  strange!" 

"Can  you  tell  me,  sir,"  said  a  fat  man,  puffing, 
"  the  name  of  yonder  village?  " 

"No,  sir." 

"Ah,  and  that  other  one?" 

"No,  sir." 

There  was  a  cry.  Everyone  rushed  in  the  direc- 
tion whence  it  came.  I  feared  that  someone  had 
fallen  over  the  parapet.  Not  at  all,  it  was  the  call  of 
the  cicerone  who  had  something  to  impart.  As  soon 
as  he  had  obtained  silence: 

"Ladies  and  gentlemen,"  he  began  in  ringing 
tones,  "the  day  is  exceptionally  favourable  to  show 


GIAMBOLO  325 

you,  far  away,  beyond  Perugia,  something  which 
few  travellers  have  had  the  good  fortune  to  see  from 
here." 

The  greasy  opera  glass  came  into  sight,  wrapped  in 
a  red  handkerchief  together  with  cigarettes  and 
divers  odds  and  ends.  The  entire  audience  was 
aquiver  with  suspense,  keen  to  the  point  of  anguish. 

"You  shall  now  see,"  he  cried. 

I  fled.  But  I  had  finally  begun  to  see  the  philos- 
ophy of  the  phenomenon.  In  a  word,  Giambolo  was 
a  reality,  since  it  was  the  thing  that  all  these  people 
came  in  search  of.  What  exactly  was  it?  There 
was  no  advantage  in  knowing,  since,  if  Giambolo 
were  within  reach,  all  joy  in  it  would  be  lost.  Giam- 
bolo stands  for  that  which  cannot  be  grasped. 
Giambolo  stands  for  the  beyond — it  is  the  door 
leading  from  the  known  to  the  Infinite. 

We  leave  our  country,  our  home  and  friends,  all  to 
whom  we  give  the  best  of  ourselves,  all  for  whom  we 
spend  ourselves,  and  we  go  to  foreign  lands  in  quest 
of  that  fascinating  Giambolo  which  we  do  not  find  at 
home,  where  strangers  sometimes  come  in  search 
of  it.  We  wear  ourselves  out  in  the  quest.  When 
we  reach  home  again,  we  claim  to  have  seen  it. 
Sometimes  we  are  not  sure  of  having  done  so.  A 
monument,  a  statue,  a  picture  is  too  close.  We  can 
always,  taking  the  word  of  fame,  make  believe  to 
discover  what  we  in  reality  do  not.  But  if  we 
succeed  in  deceiving  others,  it  is  harder  in  good  faith 


326  THE  SURPRISES  OF  LIFE 

to  delude  ourselves.  Whereas,  from  a  height, 
through  the  blurred  glass  of  faith,  the  little  white 
light,  beyond  the  edge  of  the  visible  world,  by  which 
we  are  enabled  sincerely  to  see  what  we  do  not  see 
brings  us  the  surest  realization  of  human  hope. 

And,  kind  readers,  if  any  one  of  you  ever  has  any 
doubts,  even  though  you  sit  in  your  armchair  at 
home,  follow  the  advice  of  the  guide  on  the  Venetian 

lagoon:    "Half  close  your  eyes "  and  you  will 

see  Giambolo. 


THE   END 


THE   COUNTRY  LIFE    PRESS 
GARDEN  CITY,   N.   Y. 


University  of  California 

SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 

405  Hilgard  Avenue,  Los  Angeles,  CA  90024-1388 

Return  this  material  to  the  library 

from  which  it  was  borrowed. 


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